


Saints and Soldiers

by somedamfrenchfries



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: All Human, Allura is the super stressed boss ALL THE TIME, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First fic ever guys, How Do I Tag, Human Trafficking, Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Hunk is slightly paranoid (?), Hunk works in a soup kitchen for the homeless, I Don't Even Know, I apologize in advance, I'm Sorry, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Keith does not know how to deal with Coran, Keith has insomnia, Keith is traumatized, Lance is really good at making people feel better, Lance is that one super hot volunteer, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Pidge is the best wingwoman ever, Seriously can't tag, Shiro is super big-brother-y, Shiro/Matt Holt is way in the background I'm sorry, Slavery, Some random made-up non-profits, This'll be bad but practice makes perfect, Voltron volunteers!, angsty keith, i'll add tags as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2018-12-01 13:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 68,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11487033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somedamfrenchfries/pseuds/somedamfrenchfries
Summary: Keith has been a slave since he was eleven years old. Snatched off the street in broad daylight, he spent years in the shadows, serving a callous master. Now seventeen, Keith is miraculously rescued in a raid after the police are tipped off by a suspicious neighbor. Now, with the help of an eccentric group of charity volunteers- including a mature big-brother figure, a hyper programmer, a slightly paranoid chef, and a charming, handsome, utterly infuriating swimmer- Keith has to figure out how to rebuild his life from scratch.ORKeith was a victim of human trafficking. Lance rescued him. Keith is now a super-angsty survivor. Go.





	1. The Great Disappointment

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so, as some of you may have noticed in my ridiculous (failed) attempt at tagging, this is my first fic. Not that I've posted. That I've written. And it's unedited. The plot is super shaky and probably can't even be legitimately called a plot. But I love Klance and I decided it was worth making an attempt, so thanks for giving me a chance. Hope you enjoy!

While I waited I was wasting away   
Hope was wasting away   
Faith was wasting away   
I was wasting away 

 

The garage door was pried open, a crack appearing at the bottom. Light spilled in across the floor as it went up, inch by inch. The opening lent clarity to the shouts that had been sounding outside for three hundred twenty-seven seconds. 

Bright lights flooded the formerly pitch-black space, and Keith looked up, blinking rapidly, blinded. The shouts intensified and the sound of running feet assaulted his ears as his eyes adjusted. He was too tired to be too surprised. 

Too experienced to assume that this might actually come to anything. 

When he could see again, he saw dozens of people. Some were scurrying about the front yard or shouting to each other, but a substantial group had clustered in front of the now-open door. Countless hands were reaching toward him, little more than silhouettes in the brilliant white light. 

His eyes caught on one. 

A boy, maybe his age. He was wearing a blue cotton t-shirt with jeans. The arm extended toward him was golden-toned. Messy brown hair topped his head, over a gorgeous face. 

“Come on,” the boy was encouraging, inching steadily closer. Keith didn’t move, even his face still set in stone, though his eyes tracked the boy’s every move. 

When others began to follow the first boy’s lead, starting toward Keith, he finally moved, flinching back and shifting further back into the shadows. They froze, and Keith felt a whole new hollowness open up in the pit of his stomach. Even the ones with good intentions only found pain and inconvenience around him. 

He was worthless. 

That one boy- that one stupid, stubborn boy- kept coming. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said soothingly. Like he was talking to a spooked horse. Keith guessed that was close enough to the truth. 

A new set of shouts joined into the chorus, this time from upstairs. Keith’s head snapped up, and he saw all the people outside the garage jump at his sudden movement. He wanted to scream at the impression they’d already formed of him, but he did nothing. Like always. 

He recognized the voice emanating through the house. It was him. And he was angry. Keith felt his jaw clench and his hands curl into fists.

The shouts moved through the house. Going down the hall now. An answering shout- just as incomprehensible- as they began to descend the stairs. A third voice joining in as they made their way down the echoing hallway. 

And then the voices were outside. 

Keith’s insides froze as his head swung around to track the source of the noise. He watched without blinking until he saw him. He was in handcuffs, being escorted to a squad car by two armed policeman. He was still screaming when he turned and saw Keith. 

His face contorted to a whole new level of rage, one that in the past Keith had been the only person ever to see. 

Not anymore, he guessed. 

“You son of a bitch!” the man raged at him. “What did you do? What the fuck did you do?” Keith didn’t shrink back as the numbness inside returned automatically. He hadn’t shrunk away in a long time. 

The shouting quieted as he was forced inside the car and it took off into the night. 

The people on the front yard were multiplying. Keith’s eyes skimmed over everything carefully, absorbing every detail. What looked like news vans had arrived. Police cars were parked at the curb and driven carelessly onto the lawn. Various other vans and cars, marked and unmarked, littered the driveway and the front yard. 

At the garage door, the boy was still moving forward and speaking soothingly, not noticing or not caring that Keith was hardly paying him any attention anymore. 

Keith eyed the hand that was extended toward him. Long, thin fingers, soft skin. This was not a boy accustomed to hard manual labor. The boy was only a few feet away now, his hand within easy reach. That was a bad move. If the boy were reaching toward someone dangerous like that, if he was this close, he could be dead in less than two seconds. 

Lightning-fast, Keith grabbed his hand. 

Gasps echoed all across the yard and a dozen guns were cocked. Keith ignored them all and pulled himself to his feet. The boy tried to talk to him, but Keith was already walking out of the garage, confidently striding onto the driveway, into the glaring lights, like there weren’t forty people staring at him with mouths gaping open in shock. 

He found the nearest police cruiser. That was where they were going to put him anyway. He opened the door and climbed in, reaching for the seat belt and sliding it into place. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared straight ahead and waited for them to come. 

The silence that had descended outside broke as the flurry of activity resumed. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw policemen herding reporters away, saw first-response charity workers clustering to discuss the events of the night or piling into their vans and pulling away with the flock of news vehicles. 

Directly ahead was a huddled group of charity workers. The boy was with them. Talking earnestly. Gesturing with his hands. Blue eyes opened wide. Face urgent.   
Keith looked away. 

A minute later, two officers climbed into the car. They tried to get him to talk and failed. He almost felt sorry for them. They had no idea yet, not really, how hard it would be to get him to talk. He excelled at silence. 

His face remained perfectly apathetic as they pulled away from his dilapidated prison of six years.


	2. Bleed American

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to 10-year-old Keith

(I bled the) Greed from my arm   
Won’t they give it a rest now? 

10

 

The key ring swung in easy loops around his fingers. The sun was hot, too hot, and Keith was tired. The heat was making him sweat, and his feet hurt from walking. He couldn’t even remember when the last time he’d sat down was. The entire morning had been a blur. 

He stopped, leaning against a building to take advantage of the meager shade the building next to him provided. Children were playing in the street, laughing loudly enough to create an echo. He regarded them solemnly. He couldn’t remember ever laughing that much. 

They looked so happy. He couldn’t decide if he was jealous or not- of the tiny costumes, the colorful bikes, the little shoes on their little feet- the mothers smiling on from a porch across the street. 

He didn’t make a sound, didn’t move a muscle. He knew how to be invisible, and it was times like this when he liked that. He could observe without being watched himself. He could see a piece of someone else’s life without disrupting it. 

He didn’t leave until one of the mothers on the porch caught his eye. After that, it was time to go. 

As he walked, he glanced down at his feet. His Converse were scuffed. His jeans were ripped and fraying. His red t-shirt was stained. 

He looked back over his shoulder. The children in the street wore clean clothes, new shoes. Their bikes were shiny and perfect, tassels glimmering as they streamed in the wind. 

Other kids showed up to school like he did, a lot of the time. Their clothes were ripped, their shoes were worn out, and their backpacks had holes like swiss cheese. Some of them even had bruises like him. Some of them carefully concealed cuts and marks with makeup that wore thin during the day. 

He looked back one more time as he turned a corner, and he couldn’t help but wonder what the difference was. 

 

It took him twenty more minutes to get back to his house. He stepped carefully through patches of weeds- he’d learned the hard way, a long time ago, that most of them had vicious thorns- and made his way up to the front door. It wasn’t closed all the way. When he pushed on it, it fell open. 

Discreetly, he tucked the keys back into his pocket as he stepped inside. His mom would be mad if she found out. She told him not to take them, but the last time he didn’t, he was stuck outside after school until she woke up. He’d put them back before she woke up, he’d make sure of it. 

The floorboards creaked in sixteen places. He had counted sometime, but he couldn’t remember when. He knew where every single spot was and played hopscotch around them as he made his way to the opposite wall. The trailer was small, so he slept on the couch. It folded out to make a bed for him. It was small and springs poked him in the back, but he didn’t care because it was better than the ground outside. His mother used to threaten to leave him out there when he was little and did something bad. He had to be careful to make sure she let him stay. 

As he set his backpack down- quietly, so she wouldn’t wake up- the door to the bedroom at the back of the trailer slammed open. He jumped, his backpack falling the rest of the way to the floor and landing with a hollow thud. 

He shrank back as soon as he caught sight of her face. She was infuriated. He remained silent, suppressing a whimper. He’d been so careful to be good. He didn’t know why she was mad. 

He shot a glance toward the still-open door. Maybe one day, he would run. 

“KEITH!” his mother bellowed, and he shrank away. This only seemed to make her angrier. She stomped toward him and grabbed him by the shoulder, digging her long nails savagely into his skin. Her own skin looked slightly yellow, sickly. He didn’t flinch as she shook him and he felt one of her nails break his skin. 

He didn’t quite meet her eyes as she leaned down, breathing heavily in her anger. He focused instead on her cheekbones. There were dark circles and bags beneath her eyes. She was tired, or maybe sick. Maybe both. He didn’t know. 

“You-” she started, shaking him again, but then stopped. It took him a moment to realize what she’d heard, but when he did, he froze up, tasting the tang of fear at the back of his mouth. 

She shook him again, and the sound came once more, louder this time- keys jangling in a pocket. Quiet through the fabric of his pants, but unmistakable. 

Her face began to go red as she snatched the keys from his pocket. She released his shoulder to shake them in front of his face. 

“I told you not to take these! I told you not to take them!” she was screeching, and then her words became incomprehensible as she slapped him. First once, then again and again, until he felt the skin over his cheekbone split open and begin to trickle blood down his face. 

She seemed to sag, her shoulders drooping as she began to cry. Tears rolled down her red, contorted face, and he caught her as she nearly fell to the floor. She went limp against him, and he pulled her over to the couch, supporting all her weight on his shoulders. He could do it. For her, he could do it. 

She cried and cried and tried to speak, and failed, and cried some more. Keith watched helplessly, fear and pain and the feeling of worthlessness building in his chest. He walked to their meager kitchen, finding a bandage for the cut she had on her hand and climbing onto the counter to reach the top cabinet. Shiny glass bottles were arrayed in cluttered rows there. He picked one at random and set it carefully on the countertop before climbing down himself. Taking a glass from a lower cabinet, he filled it with the clear liquid in the bottle. 

Turning, he carried them both to his mother. He pressed the glass into her good hand. She grasped it weakly and took a sip as he gently took her other hand, opening the bandage and carefully pressing it to the cut that was seeping blood, staining her hand and her dress. 

Then he retreated to the corner, curling into the shadow of the TV stand and watching as she downed glass after glass until she fell asleep with one falling from her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Comments and kudos are appreciated!


	3. Long Forgotten Sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty boring chapter, sorry, I'll do better tomorrow- but basically Keith meets Allura and gets a bed for the night. Enjoy

We are the long forgotten sons   
And daughters that don’t belong to anyone   
We are alone under this sun 

 

In the two hours he’d been sitting silently in a chair at Detective Green’s desk, Keith had heard one name eighty-three times: Second Chance. 

From what he could tell, it was a charity, a nonprofit, that dealt with people like him. People who were, as the officers had so efficiently been describing him, “traumatized and have nowhere to go.” 

It took them one hundred thirty-four minutes to settle everything amongst themselves before Detective Green sat back down in front of him. “So, um… kid, we’re going to send you out with a rep from Second Chance tonight. They’ll get you a bed to sleep in tonight, some food. Sound good?” 

Keith stared back at him with the same set expression he’d been wearing since he was found. The officers had yet to get so much as a twitch in his expression out of him. They’d been trying with no luck- to get him to talk, get him to smile, nod, shrug, anything. 

He knew better than to trust anything. Even a smile could be a lie. They wouldn’t get anything from him. 

Within the layers of conversations going on all around him, he could hear one that was ongoing in the corner. It was between a woman who looked like the police chief and a man who had the air and bearing of a therapist. He wasn’t sure if they actually thought he couldn’t hear them or if they simply thought that because he wasn’t talking, he wasn’t listening. Both ideas made him bristle. 

Detective Green sighed. “Alright, kid,” he told Keith. “I’m going to hand you off now. The director of our local branch is coming herself, so you’ll be in good hands. It’s gonna be alright now, I promise.” 

Stupid promise. A cop of all people should know better than to say something that idiotic. 

Keith kept silent as he walked away, much more interested in the conversation taking place in the corner of the office. 

“It fits with the case that he would be severely traumatized, but I don’t think an institution or more intensive mental care is a route we need to take, at least not yet,” the psychologist is saying. “It seems to me like silence is a choice he’s making, not an effect of PTSD or other trauma. For now, I think it’s a matter of wait-and-see. We need to give him some time to adjust, let him build some relationships in which he feels safe enough to open up.” 

One of Keith’s hands spasmed slightly where it was lying on the armrest of his chair. They were talking about whether or not they should commit him. Just because he wouldn’t fucking talk. 

He wouldn’t let them win. He wouldn’t let them trick him into trusting them, just so they could let him down or he could let them down. If he didn’t let them in, no one got hurt. It was easier that way. If he hadn’t been so blindly willing to trust at the first sign of kindness six years ago, he wouldn’t even be here. 

Shows what trust gets. 

He waited at Detective Green’s desk for another six hundred seventy-two seconds before the groups of officers at the door parted to let a woman through. She was slim and petite, built small. Her face was pretty and delicate, chocolate-colored skin framed by snow-white waves. She must have dyed her hair. 

Despite her size, she moved through the assembled people with such confidence and purpose that she had no trouble making her way through the crowd to Keith’s side. 

She comes to a stop next to his chair and ignores the stares focused on them from every angle. “Hello,” she says, crouching down beside his chair. He watches her but offers her no expression. He doesn’t respond, but she takes it in stride. “I’m Allura,” she continues in a musical British accent. “I run the local division of Second Chance. It’s a nonprofit that helps take care of young people who are victims of trafficking, like yourself, or who are homeless. When we heard what had happened, we managed to find a bed for you tonight. Are you ready to go?” 

He stared steadily at her, unblinking and unchanging. 

She stood. “Well come on then,” she said, grabbing her purse off the desk again and beginning to walk away. 

Keith stared after her for a long moment. 

Then he stood up, pushed in his chair, and followed her outside. 

 

Allura had brought her own car. It wasn’t plastered with any of the stickers and branding marks that vans or other official vehicles would have sported, though the license plate frame did read “SECOND CHANCE” in large, distracting block letters. 

She tossed her purse into a cluttered backseat and gestured him toward the passenger door. “Sorry it’s such a mess,” she apologized. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t had much time for car tidying lately. But the ride isn’t that far, so hopefully it’ll be okay.” 

Keith was barely listening as he stared, almost uncomprehendingly, down at the little Civic, sitting there dormant in its parking spot. He couldn’t remember the last time he was in a car. He was drugged before he was taken away in whatever vehicle got him to the place he’d been the last six years. His mother rarely drove. 

Allura was getting in the car. Shoving all else aside, Keith tried to focus on her melodic voice as he opened the door and got in after her. 

The texture of the seat belt felt odd beneath his fingertips as he buckled in. When Allura turned on the car, the engine grumbling reluctantly to life, Keith let his fingers drag across the odd material once more before falling to rest in his lap beside his other hand. 

Keith didn’t look back to watch lights flick off at the police station as they pulled away. 

 

Allura only talked a little bit on the way over, only pointing things out to him every now and then as they drove. He got the feeling she was trying not to overwhelm him. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t need to be protected, that he could handle a lot more than she thought he could. 

He didn’t. 

“Second Chance has four safe houses throughout the city,” Allura explained as they walked up to the entrance of a three-story building a few blocks from the busy downtown heart of the metropolis. “We host meals here, and take as many overnight guests as we can. We work with other organizations in the area to house as many youth as possible, but unfortunately, it doesn’t always work as well as we’d hope.” 

Keith didn’t respond, but he didn’t think she really expected him to anymore. The thing was, now he wasn’t sure if she was talking to reassure him or calm herself. The more time he spent with her, the more obvious it was that she was high-strung- constantly thrumming her fingers against the steering wheel, checking her phone, checking her watch, scanning her surroundings, occasionally rambling. She had a lot of energy, which she probably translated into ambition and drive. It would be one explanation as to why someone as young as her was heading up an entire division of a non-profit in a busy city. 

Still, he couldn’t help hoping that he’d never have to be around her when she’d had coffee. 

The front lobby was dark and silent. Computer screens were off, phones were unplugged, and not a single living soul could be seen. Through a door, Keith thought he caught a glimpse of stainless steel- a kitchen- and through another, a dining hall, filled with as many chairs and tables as the room could fit. 

Allura breezed by all of them, leading him up both flights of stairs until he was at the top floor. From there she guided him down to the end of the hall and stopped at the last door on the left. He took the opportunity between when she stopped and when she started talking to glance out the window that was next to him, at the end of the hallway. He could see the lights of downtown, still bright at this hour, and one lonely pedestrian, dressed entirely in black, hurrying along on the street below. 

He gazed down at the man walking by until Allura pulled him into the room she’d been waiting by. 

Three bunk beds were crammed into the tiny space. Five were occupied by snoring boys, all wearing filthy, torn street clothes. The last in the row had an empty mattress on top. 

Allura started toward it while Keith stayed still, trying to force himself to adjust more quickly to the murky darkness so he could take stock of his new- temporary- roommates. 

She wasn’t having it. “Come on, Keith,” she whispered, coming over to take him by the elbow and pull him toward the last bed. It was a bold move. Most in her field- or any field- wouldn’t have dared touch an unresponsive, traumatized child. 

Keith didn’t make a sound or give the barest hint of resistance, letting himself be dragged along after her limply. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. 

The bed was neatly made with thin sheets and a threadbare blanket, tucked in with hospital corners. Someone took time on this place, washing the sheets and making the beds, making sure it was ready for the next group of kids and teenagers off the streets or out of their own worst nightmares. 

Keith climbed up the side of the bed without being told and dropped onto the mattress, shoes and all. He didn’t get under the sheets. Allura stood at the bedside for ten minutes, coaxing and whispering and reassuring. He acted like he couldn’t hear her, staring straight ahead at the wall beside the door. 

Eventually, she left, and Keith was alone with the sound of his thoughts and five snoring boys.


	4. Panic Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to 11-year-old Keith

When you see yourself in a crowded room  
Do your fingers itch   
Are you pistol-whipped? 

11

 

Keith turned onto his street and stopped dead. That car, that trashy, beat-up old ford pickup, was pulled into the driveway again. 

He thought about turning around and just walking away, like he was never there in the first place. He could imagine every little detail- the way the gravel would crunch beneath the ever-thinning soles of his shoes, the tiny puffs of dust that would follow behind him like puppies at his heels, his fingers curled around the strap of his backpack. 

He climbed the steps and went inside. 

The man and his mother were on the couch, watching a black-and-white movie on cable. They only got a few channels, but Keith never watched because the noise woke his mom up. 

His mother and her boyfriend had no such qualms. 

Keith ducked his head walking in and hunched over, curling into himself. Trying to become invisible. He’d learned, over the years, to become small enough that most forgot about him. He knew how to be invisible to his mother. He was getting closer to figuring out this one, but- 

“How was school, boy?” 

But not close enough. 

Keith stopped and turned to face Roy, shuffling his feet. The first time he met the man, Keith didn’t look at him while he spoke. Roy punched him twice in the face, hard enough to make him fall down, before finishing his incongruously polite, completely slimy introduction. 

Keith looked after that. 

“It was fine, sir,” Keith said, walking the line between grumbling, which Roy hated, and clear enunciation, which he demanded. Roy huffed his dissatisfaction and stood. “Have any homework?” Roy asked. Keith’s mother appeared to be in a stupor on the couch, still staring blankly at the TV with parted lips and glassy eyes. The way she looked scared him, but he didn’t let himself think about it. He let his eyes follow Roy instead as the older man watched him like a predator spotting prey. 

“Have any homework?” Roy almost purred. The tone in his voice- undercurrents of something wrong, something dangerous- but Keith on edge, causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise, sending tingles up and down his spine like ice was erupting from his bones. 

He ignored it. 

“Yes, sir,” Keith said, slightly clearer than the last time. 

Roy slapped him. The sound cracked through the small structure and seemed to echo in Keith’s ringing ears. He tasted blood but didn’t dare move except to straighten back up. He was the prey now, and Roy was the predator. If Roy got bored, he’d hit Keith’s mom. So Roy couldn’t get bored. It was that simple. 

Keith noted the heavy rings on the fingers of Roy’s dominant hand. 

If only it were that easy, too. 

“Have any homework?” Roy repeated slowly, words weighted now. Slowly, his eyes locked on Roy’s soulless dark ones, Keith shook his head. 

Another slap, so quickly that Keith didn’t see it coming. Hard enough to knock him into the wall at his side. 

“Answer with your words, boy,” Roy snarled. 

Resisting the urge to put a hand to his face and check for the damage he felt sure was there, Keith said in a crystal clear voice, “No.” 

Roy snarled again and backhanded him. This time, Keith felt the impact of the metal rings against the bones of his face, igniting a whole new layer of pain. “No, sir,” Roy growls. 

Keith gritted his teeth, straightened up. He lifted his head slowly to look the older man in the eye. “No, sir,” he echoed, words crisp and succinct even though he could taste his own blood as it filled his mouth. It tasted sharp and tangy, and he wondered if, if he swallowed enough if it, it would kill him. 

He wondered if it would matter. 

Roy bent down, getting in Keith’s face. “How about you fix your mother and me some dinner,” he said. On the surface, the words, the tone, were polite. Courteous. But his expression screamed murder and the core of his pitch was icy cold. 

“Yes, sir,” Keith said. Roy stayed for another thirteen seconds, searching Keith’s face- for some hint of submission or rebellion or something else, Keith wasn’t sure, but he didn’t blink. Not once. 

As Roy turned and lumbered away, Keith glanced around his bulk to see his mother. She was still sitting on the couch, staring out the door with that glazed expression. There was a slight furrow to her brow now, like she was trying to remember something, but as Roy settled back down beside her and dropped a heavy arm over her too-thin shoulders, she couldn’t seem to find it. 

Keith dropped his backpack to the floor and set to making dinner. 

 

He didn’t know how to cook. 

His mother had never taught him because she didn’t cook herself. Keith had been raised on easy things- canned ravioli or boxed mac and cheese, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, bags of chips, bottled water or cans of coke. He didn’t remember ever trying to use a kitchen knife, or defrost meat, or prepare vegetables that didn’t come from a can. 

Roy didn’t like canned corn. 

He took one look at the dinner Keith had tried to set out nicely on their tiny table and turned to Keith, stalking toward the younger boy with the devil in his eyes. 

His mother sat at the table and stared into a candle flame as Roy hit Keith again and again until he couldn’t even bring himself to stand up any more. 

He lay there, a prone figure on the floor, as Roy guided his mother up and out of her chair and out the door, grumbling about KFC. 

Leaving him there. 

Leaving his mother alone with that monster. 

Worthless. Worthless. Worthless. 

He flicked his fingers, one by one. They worked perfectly, like he knew they would. Then his toes, one by one. Perfect. 

He picked his right arm up off the floor. It was fine. The left screamed in pain when he lifted it, but he ignored it because he knew it wasn’t broken. 

Right leg. Left leg. Both sore but useable. 

He shifted around on the floor. His neck ached, but his back didn’t hurt. His spine was okay. 

Painfully slowly, gingerly, he picked himself up off the ground. His head spun and shrieked with pain. He caught himself against the wall as he felt his body start to list sideways. He wouldn’t fall back down again. He wouldn’t. He would stand, and he would stay standing, and then maybe he wouldn’t be quite as worthless anymore. If he could do this, if he could at least do this, then maybe, maybe, maybe. 

As carefully as he could manage, Keith limped to their dingy bathroom, using the wall as a makeshift support rail. Once there, he shut the door and locked it, just in case Roy came back. Turning, he examined himself in the bathroom mirror. 

He didn’t flinch at his reflection. Even then, he was developing that numbness that would serve him so well throughout the years. He retreated into himself. He saw, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t. 

His cheekbones were split open in seven places, five times on the right side of his face and two on the left. His teeth were coated in blood but all were intact and attached; his tongue was bleeding from where he’d bitten it as his head whipped back. There were angry red marks, usually bleeding, from where Roy’s rings had struck his skin. A cut dripped blood from his forehead into his eye. 

He methodically took gauze and antiseptic from the cabinet, cleaning out his cuts even though they stung. He placed butterfly bandages over the cut on his forehead. He spat blood until there wasn’t so much anymore. 

He looked in the mirror again. 

He didn’t see anything. 

Turning, he left the bathroom without a backward glance and waited at the kitchen table for his mother and Roy to come home.


	5. Calling All Skeletons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith meets Coran, goes to the Second Chance headquarters, and we finally see the rest of the Paladins, with a short shift in perspective at the end. Enjoy and please comment below!

Where did you go as the lights went black?  
Look what’s become of me  
I’ve grown to love your disappearing acts  
Do one more pretty please 

 

Keith’s eyes were still open when the alarms began going off all up and down the hall. The sun had risen eighty-seven minutes ago. He hadn’t gotten so much as a minute of sleep. 

The wall across from him had sixty-two imperfections- nicks and scratches, patches where holes used to be, chipped paint. All the wear that came with years of use. For all he knew, the boys occupying the rest of the room had inflicted some of the damage. Or they could have been as new to this situation, to this building, as he was. 

The alarms clicked off one by one as new sounds began to fill the building- covers being thrown back, feet on the floors, sleep-fuzzy voices drifting through the hallway. The alarm that had gone on blaring below him flicked off as a lazy, flopping arm reached out to slap at the buttons. 

Three of the boys had gotten up and were milling around the room, pulling on jackets or locating belongings they’d stashed in cupboards or under beds or floorboards. One cast him curious looks every now and then, but for the most part, they ignored him. 

He was okay with that. He was used to being invisible. It was always better that way, anyway. 

The last two boys dragged themselves out of bed as the other three made to leave the room. Keith still didn’t move, watching them move around in his peripheral vision as his eyes remained fixed on the opposite wall. 

It took them another five minutes to leave. On their way out the door, one paused and looked up at him. “Bro,” he said. “You comin’?” 

They waited for several moments, staring up at him, before turning to go without another word. 

Keith ignored the look they shared at his silence. 

It took another ten minutes for the noise to die down. He figured they were all eating breakfast, or maybe most of them had left. He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to risk running into anyone. He had no desire for human contact. If it were up to him, he would just stay there, curled up in a silent, motionless ball forever, until he faded away. 

He should have known he’d never be so lucky. 

Twenty-two minutes after the noise had died down, the door swung open. Keith eyed the intruder out of the corner of his eye. 

The man had startlingly orange hair and a mustache to match. Dark blue eyes held a manic energy that made Keith instantly wary- energetic people, bubbly people, they could be hard to deal with, for completely different reasons than the kind of hard-to-deal-with he was used to handling. Maybe that was why he hated it so much. 

“Hello there, John was it?” the man asked in a strong Australian accent, walking into the room. It was clear that he was talking to Keith- the room, probably the whole floor, was otherwise deserted, but the orange man’s eyes wandered. His fingers bounced against his crossed arms. Too much energy. 

Keith almost rolled his eyes. He’d take the devil he knew any day, even if it did mean broken ribs. 

Anything except… 

The man strolled over to Keith’s bed, and his hand popped up, extended toward Keith. “I’m Coran. I work closely with Allura, who you met last night if I’m not mistaken. I’m here to take you back to our Second Chance facility downtown.” Coran’s leg didn’t stop bouncing through the whole speech, and there was an energy to his voice and face that was far too animated to hint at a calm, easy-going creature. 

Anything except that. 

Keith didn’t reply. Coran seemed to be waiting for something- for him to speak, maybe- but all Keith could think about was the obnoxious tapping of Coran’s foot. 

It took another seventy-two seconds for Coran to get that Keith had no intention of moving or speaking anytime soon. 

“Alright then,” the older man said, and began to zip around the room. 

Keith’s eyes widened fractionally as he watched Coran bounce around like a freaking kangaroo. He was in one corner one moment, muttering to himself about the window glass, and at the opposite wall the next second, a measuring tape rolled out in front of him. 

“Buildings like this tend to fall into disrepair quickly due to the amount of traffic and the low funding,” Coran was explaining in his pragmatic, energetic way. “All the funding these organizations get goes into food or clothing, more practical things, so buildings, a lot of times, get a lot worse before they get any better.” 

He popped up from where he’d been crouched on the floor. “This room’s done,” he pronounced, and skittered out the door. 

Keith blinked. What the hell? 

He stared out the door a few more minutes before getting up and going after him. 

Keith cautiously poked his head into the hallway, looking both directions. He saw nothing and began to relax. 

Suddenly Coran’s head popped into view out of nowhere, saying, “There you are!” Keith jumped a foot in the air, eyes going wide and a puff of air leaking from his lips in lieu of a scream. 

Coran chuckled. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Now come on, come on,” he said, ushering the younger boy down the stairs and steering him down the hall, past the dining room, and out into the morning air. 

The main part of downtown was several blocks away, but Keith could hear morning rush our going on even from where he was. Horns squealed and the clamor of hundreds of thousands of people filled the air. 

He took a deep breath, looking around. Everything looked different in the light. He wondered if he did too. 

A beat-up old civic was parked at the curb. It might have been blue or gray once, but now it was a faded non-color, the paint peeling or rusting in patches with cracks spider-webbing through all the windows. The passenger-side door was dented, the front bumper sagging. 

“Isn’t she a beauty?” Coran asked, laughing. “She’s not the prettiest, but she gets the job done. I haven’t had enough time or money to go car shopping lately.” 

Keith knew the feeling of not having enough. 

Coran seemed to have accepted Keith’s silence and kept up a steady stream of chatter as they climbed into the car and pulled away from the curb. Keith didn’t quite know what to do with it and found himself glancing, wide-eyed, between the road they were driving down and the other occupant of the car every few seconds. 

It took them half an hour with the traffic to get to the Second Chance facility. It was a four-story building, and the nearest parking was down the next street. Coran had taken to narrating their drive, and something very near to frustration was welling in Keith’s chest as he said, “And this is Clark Avenue, home to the best pizzeria this side of the city and six different underground parking garages. It runs adjacent to Dawson Street, which is where Second Chance is.” 

Keith clamped his hands down on his knees. Soon the car would stop and he could get out, maybe even find Allura- it wasn’t ideal, but at least she didn’t talk as much as Coran. Both were high-strung, but he had a lot more faith in his ability to deal with her than him. 

Coran finally found parking after another five minutes of searching. “We’re here,” Coran pronounced, as if it wasn’t obvious enough. Keith had already unbuckled his seatbelt and all but flew out of the car, slamming the door and seeking refuge on the sidewalk. 

Keith remembered Coran pointing out the Second Chance building earlier. He started walking quickly in that direction, not waiting for Coran. Being around that raving bundle of energy was causing a knot of anxiety to settle in his chest. He wasn’t normally an anxious person and wanted to keep it that way. It was better if he put some distance between them, at least for a few minutes. 

He heard Coran yelling after him, but he kept walking. Chances were good that if he could get there, he could find somewhere dark and quiet and empty to be alone for a while. That was what he needed right now- solitude. If he just went a little faster- 

And then there was a hand on his arm, pulling him to a rough stop as a frazzled, accented voice filled his head again. Who the hell were this people that so readily grabbed at a traumatized minor and who thought that the best way to deal with him was to be pushy and assertive and never shut up? 

The hand on his arm yanked and swung around, and Keith found himself staring at a red-faced Coran. “You can’t run off like that here!” Coran said harshly, something strained and tight in his voice. Was that… anger? 

Of course. Of course it was. He’d known this man for an hour and he’d already made him mad. Why wasn’t he even surprised anymore? All he could ever do was upset people. 

He was so worthless. 

The strain didn’t leave his voice as Coran said, “There are some shady people around here, and I’m sure you don’t know the area, plus it’s organization policy. You need to stay with me.” 

Keith stared back at him expressionlessly until Coran let go of his arm and took a step back. 

His voice was gentler when he said, “Now come on. I’ll walk you in.” He began to walk away. 

Keith stared at the busy street in the other direction for a long moment. Then he turned and followed after Coran. 

 

The inside of the six-story building was already busy, even though it was just midday. People were hurrying about in different directions. Keith glanced at a calendar on the wall. Saturday. All these people were either working or volunteering on a Saturday. They must be much better company than he was used to. 

“Each of the six floors is in constant use,” Coran was explaining as they crossed the small lobby. “The floor down here is this lobby, a few sitting rooms, a kitchen and a large dining hall. Then we’ve got bedrooms on the second, third and fourth levels. The regional headquarters for our organization take up the top two stories. Allura, who you met last night, is the president here. I’m the vice president, kind of like her head advisor. I also do a lot of the technical work around the place, so you’ll probably see me around a lot while you’re staying here.” 

He took Keith through the lobby and down a short, narrow hallway, then up three flights of stairs. “You can take your pick of any of the rooms without ‘occupied’ signs. There should be a few left up here. There should be two beds per room, so you’ll probably have to share unless you can manage, somehow, to find a completely vacant one. The bed will already have sheets, and I’ll talk to one of our directors about getting you some clothes. Try not to start any fights with your hall mates, and someone will be up to get you at dinner time.” 

With that, he scurried off down the hall. Keith wasn’t sure whether he did it because he sensed the younger boy’s need to be alone or because he had something to do, but either way, Keith appreciated it. 

He wandered up and down the hall for fifteen minutes, peering occasionally into rooms without occupied signs. Most were strewn with belongings or held suitcases, but finally, he found one at the end of the hallway. It was dark inside, at the corner of the building, with windows on two walls that looked out onto downtown. It was utterly, completely empty. 

With a grateful sigh and a loosening of the tightness in his chest, Keith hung the “occupied” sign on the door, flipped the lock, and collapsed onto the bed. 

He was asleep in seconds. 

 

It was a loud bell that woke him up. 

Keith jerked upright as a loud noise started echoing through the halls. From the sound of it, there was one on his floor and one on each floor below him. “Dinner!” people were shouting up and down the halls. 

He tried to steady his breathing, sucking in gasps and staring into the darkness at the edges of the room, where the light from the windows didn’t reach. Sweat made his skin slick, soaking through his ragged red t-shirt. 

He couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about, just that it had instilled a lingering sense of terror in him, lurking at the back of his mind and causing a ball of lead to settle in his stomach. He ran a hand through his tangled hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d brushed it, much less changed his clothes or even taken off his shoes. They were still on now, rubbing black stains into the pale blanket covering the bed. 

He swung his legs off the bed, planting his feet on the floor. Footsteps were moving away, as were all the voices. Keith gave himself another moment- just a few seconds, a few more breaths- before pushing himself to his feet and following the sound of human activity down the stairs and to the dining hall. 

From the posters plastered all up and down the hallways, Keith learned that Second Chance worked mainly with trafficked youth, but also did some campaigning for homelessness and ran programs for adult victims of trafficking. They had street teams, teams that went in with police to raid houses and brothels, teams that trained volunteers, new employees or employees of other companies, and helped rehabilitate victims. 

The dining hall was loud and crowded. Keith was instantly shocked by the number of people who were smiling. It seemed so weird that these people had all been sold into slavery or prostitution, but still, still, they could all smile here. 

He stared at them emotionlessly, wondering what that was like. 

He waited until the line for food had mostly cleared out before cautiously moving out of the darkness of the hallway and into the light. 

***

At the kitchen, four people watched as the new boy- the only person here they didn’t recognize, so he had to be new- warily entered the food line, staying at least six feet from the person in front of him at all times. His eyes darted about distrustfully, constantly scanning his surroundings. 

Hunk was still at the counter, serving food onto plates with a bright smile and cheery greetings, but the other three were huddled to the side, waiting until everyone had sat down to disperse. Now, Lance was glad they had. The new boy, with his purple eyes and dark hair, was intriguing to say the least, but he had the bearing that told Lance instantly he was the type that would disappear, become invisible and melt into the shadows as soon as you looked away from him. 

It was too late for that now, though. Lance had seen him, and even though they’d never spoken- the boy probably hadn’t even seen him yet- he knew he wouldn’t be able to un-see him. 

The boy went through the food line and then found an empty table in a dark corner. 

Lance didn’t look away from him as he leaned over to Shiro. “Who’s that?” he asked of his friend. Shiro was a few years older than him, a college student at NYU. He was a few years from graduating, and was torn between becoming a police officer and an engineer. Lance, meanwhile, only knew that he wanted to do something involving the ocean. Maybe he’d become a marine biologist, like his mother. 

Shiro looked to the corner where the new boy was sitting. “Not sure,” he admitted. “I think I heard Allura talking about someone new, though. Probably him.” 

The three of them looked among each other. Hunk would be stuck in the kitchen for several more hours, serving seconds, cleaning up dinner, and then prepping for breakfast tomorrow. 

Without another word exchanged, the three of them started toward that back table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just a couple things: 
> 
> First of all, I'm sorry I didn't update yesterday, I got really busy. However, that does lead me to my next thing, which is that I do plan to post every day or every two days. I can't promise that interval if I get really busy, but I'll try to give you guys a heads-up if it's going to be more than that. Anyway, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


	6. The Leaving Song (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a really short chapter that kind of clears up some of the end of chapter five and covers the first encounter between Keith and the other paladins. I'll post again tomorrow, hopefully with a longer chapter or even two. 
> 
> Also, a heads-up- I've decided to do bonus chapters for every 1000 hits, so I'll start taking requests at about 800 hits. Thanks, hope you enjoy!

Don’t waste your touch, you won’t feel anything  
Or were you sent to save me?   
I’ve thought too much, you won’t find anything   
Worthy of redeeming… 

 

Keith poked at his food, pushing it around on his plate without eating any of it. The food actually smelled good, contrary to what he’d been expecting, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it. He did know, however, that there were three hundred seventy-two peas on his plate and that there were sixty-three scratches on the surface of the table. 

He was in the middle of counting the scratches on the bench that ran along his left side perpendicular to his at the square table when someone slid onto it. 

He looked up, expecting Coran. He was surprised to find a familiar face there instead. 

It was the boy from the garage, the one who’d kept coming as everyone else backed away. He was wearing a blue shirt today, too, but this time, his face was less serious, less focused, and more relaxed. He looked friendly and open. 

Two more people sat down at the other benches. One was a tall, muscular guy in a black t-shirt. The front of his hair was almost as shockingly snow-white as all of Allura’s, with a scar across the bridge of his nose. The other was a girl with hair cropped short, glasses sliding down her face and a green sweatshirt on. 

Keith was bewildered, unsure where to look. What was this? Why were they all here, why now, why him? Had he looked that lonely, hidden away in his shadowed corner? He’d thought he’d put off enough of an air of being fine with his solitude, but apparently not. Why else would anyone bother approaching him? 

“Hey,” the boy from the garage said. “I’m Lance. This is Shiro and Pidge,” he says, gesturing first to the guy and then the girl. Lance looked maybe seventeen or eighteen, Pidge maybe fourteen or fifteen, and Shiro was probably in his early twenties. 

Keith continued to stare dumbly as Lance said, a peculiar look crossing his face, “Do I know you from somewhere? You’re new here, right? I know I haven’t seen you here before, but somewhere else?” 

Keith started tapping his fingers against his knee. Even Lance didn’t remember him, when it was barely twenty-four hours ago that they’d last seen each other. 

He was almost glad. If he could disappear, he couldn’t get hurt, and Keith could always disappear. He’d learned it with his mother and perfected the skill with Roy. The last six years were just practice. 

He wasn’t sure why there suddenly seemed to be a weight in his stomach. 

The three of them watched him expectantly, waiting for him to answer. He stared calmly back at them, at the wall behind them, every now and then looking back to his food. Silence descended firmly over the space, and he saw the three of them exchanging what they thought were surreptitious glances. 

Pidge cleared her throat. “Did you know that bananas are a berry?” she finally said, and Lance shot her a look that Keith couldn’t decipher and turned back toward him. 

His blue eyes scanned Keith’s face again, his brow furrowing. “Was it…” he began, tilting his head slightly to the side. Keith almost blushed, both at the scrutiny and because of the boy it was coming from. He didn’t, though. His face appeared as apathetic as ever, he was sure. He wasn’t really sure when the last time was that he actually allowed anyone to see his emotions. 

Slowly, comprehension dawned in Lance’s eyes. “Was it you, yesterday?” he asked. “At the garage?” 

Keith didn’t respond, but his steady, unblinking gaze holding Lance’s seemed to be all the answer the other boy needed. 

“You mean the police raid last night?” Shiro’s voice broke in. He had a prosthetic arm, and the fingers on the other hand were tapping lightly against the table. Keith ceased his own identical tic the second he noted it in Shiro. 

Lance nodded. “Yeah, I think so, right?” he said, seeming to be addressing the question to Keith. Lance looked over toward the kitchen, and Keith followed his gaze. A tall boy in a yellow shirt was standing behind the kitchen, serving food onto plates. He was staring at Keith and the others at his table, but his cheeks went red and he looked away when he noticed Keith watching him. 

By the time Keith turned back to the table, Lance was staring at him again.”You didn’t talk last night either,” Lance muttered thoughtfully, eyes still on Keith’s. Keith looked away this time. He didn’t know what to do with these people, felt the knot of stress from earlier returning to settle into his chest again. He stabbed his fork into his mashed potatoes. 

Shiro and Pidge were looking at him with renewed interest now. “You’re sure, Lance?” Shiro said, like Keith wasn’t there. 

It was probably better that way. He didn’t want to be there. 

Lance nodded confidently. “Yeah, I’m sure now.” Pidge raised an eyebrow. “Then why didn’t you recognize him earlier? You had to ask Shiro who he was.” 

Keith ignored the pang in his chest. There were one hundred six people in the dining hall that looked like wards, nineteen more volunteers intermingling with them, and seven people behind the food counter. 

Lance was turned toward Shiro and Pidge, but Keith could see the other boy’s eyes focusing on him from their corners. He looked back down at his food. “He knows how to disappear,” Lance said softly, and Keith’s fork fell from his fingers and onto the table with a clatter. 

All three of them looked up at him, but he was staring at the fork- mashed potatoes coating its tines, the rest gleaming dully in the light- his lips slightly parted as he breathed. Was he that easy to read? So easy to decipher, so easy to see through and to figure out? 

If he was easy to read, easy to see through, he had nothing. No defense. 

He couldn’t even do the one thing he’d been doing all his life right. He couldn’t do it at all, much less do it well. 

There was a slight hitch in his breathing. 

Worthless. 

He stopped. Reached for his fork. Wrapped his fingers around it. 

Thought again. 

Let it go. 

Stood up. 

 

Walked away.


	7. The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically just an angsty no-dialogue reflection-type chapter with just Keith. Really short again but I plan to get up an eighth chapter tonight also, probably from Lance's perspective, and then a ninth one tonight or tomorrow that'll probably be a flashback.

Pull the plug   
But I’d like to learn your name   
And holdin’ on   
Well I hope you do the same 

 

He’d already flipped the lock, even though a sign in the hallway had proclaimed in screaming letters that it wasn’t allowed. He crossed the room with his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, his head, down to his fingers and toes. He thought his breath might be ragged, but he couldn’t really hear it. He tossed back the curtains and threw both windows wide open, casting dim light from the city and the moon over the two twin beds occupying the otherwise empty room. 

Cool air filled the space, cold and sharp and exactly what he needed. He forced himself to slow his breathing for, what, the third time that day? As the fresh air wrapped around him, he felt his pulse slowing, his breath steadying, the heat searing beneath his skin cooling. He was overreacting. He knew, he knew, that he wasn’t easy to read, that he was good at disappearing. And, more than that, he knew that he could take care of himself. He would have been fine, if they’d just left him there, if no one had been his savior. 

They should have left him there. 

He thought back to the looks on those volunteers’ faces as he dropped his fork for the second time and walked away. He thought of the boy in the kitchen, whose guilt was obvious on his face when he saw Keith notice his staring. He saw the shadow of something dark in Lance’s eyes when the other boy realized that he had forgotten Keith’s face, even though he was the one who had retrieved him, even though it was just yesterday. 

All that pain in less than five minutes. 

He really was worthless. 

Even though he was in the middle of a busy city, even though the building was huge and nearly at full capacity, even though he could hear music playing a floor below, he finally felt alone. 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so grateful to be by himself in his life. 

For the first time in what was probably forever, he shucked off his jacket and shoes. The sheets and blankets outfitting the beds were thin and pale-colored, contrasting sharply with his filthy, tattered, dark clothing. He didn’t care. 

He laid down almost silently on the bed, staring out one of the windows. From this angle, all he could see was the side of the building across the street. A patchwork scattering of windows still shone with golden light, but many were dark. 

Like people. How some people were bright, like Lance, and some people were dark, like him. 

One of his hands was rubbing idly along the fabric of the sheet beneath him. It was surprisingly soft, despite how it looked. He hadn’t bothered to pull them up- the blankets and the top sheet were at the foot of the bed, slowly sliding too the floor. 

He looked back out the window. From here, he could see twenty-two windows with lights on, and eighteen that were dark. Earlier, he’d counted seventy-two cars parked on the street within view, but he was sure the number was different now. 

He glanced down again. The whole room looked so serene in this light, if in a somewhat forlorn way. Maybe it was better this way, was better that they had found him. He could stay here forever. He could lay there, watch the pale sheets brighten in the weak light, just stay until he turned into nothing. 

He didn’t want to die. He didn’t. He hadn’t survived all those years for nothing, not when there were always knives in the kitchen and drugs in the medicine cabinets and the gun in the safe that the old bastard had thought he didn’t know about. He wasn’t suicidal, had no desire to die. 

But sometimes, he thought it would be better for everyone if he could fade away. To oblivion or to somewhere far away, he didn’t know, but he thought of it often enough that he thought maybe, one day, it might actually happen. 

Somewhere above, he heard a helicopter. He had never flown before. He had always wondered what it was like, though. To be… untethered. 

All his life, he had been. Tied to something, first his mother, then his master, now his messiah. His rescuers. He couldn’t leave, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe he should have, at least should have tried. He didn’t owe them anything, really. None of them. He could fend for himself, make his own decisions. 

But he couldn’t leave. 

He stared down at the sheets and didn’t move for forever.


	8. Stockholm Syndrome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Lance's perspective but pretty much all about Keith and Lance's experiences with him. Enjoy! 
> 
> Also, I'm now taking requests for bonus chapters, let me know if you have any in the comments!

_This is the last time I’ll abandon you_  
_And this is the last time I’ll forget you_  
_I wish I could_

 

Lance watched the silent boy go with a dumbfounded expression. 

“It’s because you pointed out that he was good at disappearing,” Pidge said sagely, nodding to punctuate her point even as her legs started bouncing and fingers started tapping. Hunk kept trying to hide the coffee, but somehow, she kept finding it. Not that it made much difference either way. The girl may have been a walking orb of electricity for all the energy she had. It was shocking just how energetic someone so small could be. 

Shiro immediately jumped in to soothe the pit that had opened up in Lance’s stomach. “It wasn’t you, Lance,” he assured. “Look, you said he was from that one house, right? Allura said that the guy the police arrested said that kid had been there for six years, and we don’t even know what that guy _did_ to him in those years. That’s a lot of trauma. It wasn’t you. It’s probably just a lot to take, you know? All of this?” He gestured broadly around the dining hall. 

Lance bit down on his lip. He wasn’t sure which of them he believed. He knew who he _wanted_ to believe, though, so he went with that. 

“Right,” he said confidently. “Guys, it’s cool. I’m not worried.” He was. “Let’s go tell Hunk what happened. He was watching us like his favorite reality TV show on mute.” 

“Hunk doesn’t watch reality TV,” Pidge pointed out as they all stood, following Lance back to the counter. Lance snorted his laughter. “You got a lot to learn, kid,” he said as they made their way behind the food service station. Pidge huffed. She hated being called kid. It was a completely unwarranted nickname seeing as she was probably sixty times smarter than him despite the age difference, but he still did it just to jab at her. What fun was life without some teasing? 

Hunk pounced the second they got back. “Who was he? What was he like? Was he nice? Was he homeless? Was he armed? Because I heard something the other day about how sixty percent of homeless youth are-” 

Hunk was slightly paranoid. 

Lance approached his friend with a big grin on his face and clapped his shoulder. “Yeah, buddy, he was very dangerous. I think he scared Shiro. Terrifying. And then he pulled a giant knife and told us he was gonna disembowel us and use our guts as-” 

“Okay, okay, I got it, I’m ridiculous,” Hunk grumbled, placated for the moment. “But seriously, what was up with him?” Lance gripped his friend’s shoulder and grimaced. “Honestly, we don’t know. He didn’t talk. Like, at all. Not a single word. We did remember though that we had forgotten-” 

Behind Lance, Shiro cleared his throat. 

Lance rolled his eyes and sighed. “Okay, _I_ remembered that _I_ had forgotten that he was that guy from the raid I went on last night.” Hunk’s eyes widened as he let out a quiet, “Ohhhhhh…” 

Hunk turned away to scoop mashed potatoes onto a latecomer’s plate. “So trafficking then?” he said under his breath as the kid on the opposite side of the counter moved down the line to the peas. Lance nodded. “Yeah,” he almost whispered back. 

Hunk’s shoulders deflated as the kid moved out of earshot. “Poor guy,” he murmured. “That’s gotta be rough.” Lance nodded, a weight settling into his chest. He couldn’t imagine being a slave like that boy had. Couldn’t imagine being so damaged that he couldn’t- or wouldn’t- even speak. 

Guilt was eating away at his stomach. Had that boy run away because of him? Because of his questions and his stupid unfiltered comments, because of his sudden presence when he was so used to being abused or alone? He couldn’t believe he could be so _stupid_ … 

Shiro seemed to be reading his mind, because he reached forward and put a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Hey,” Shiro said again, much more gently than the first time. “It’s not your fault. He’s probably been stressed all day. He just got in this morning, so he’s been through a lot.” 

Lance nodded, feeling himself begin to relax a bit. Shiro always knew what to say. He was like the group’s supportive big brother. He was scared to even think of the trainwreck they’d be without him. 

“Thanks, Shiro,” he murmured, so quietly he wasn’t sure Shiro could even hear him. But the reassuring squeeze Shiro gave his shoulder seemed to speak to the affirmative, so Lance was content with it. 

Hunk shakes his head sadly, big brown eyes turning that signature puppy-dog look on the rest of the group. “Do you think there’s anything we can do? He must be so stressed out and so scared. I mean, I would be scared, like, if I didn’t know this place and I didn’t know the people and have you seen downtown in this city it’s crazy and-” 

“HUNK!” the rest of the group all but shouted, and Hunk shut his mouth with an apologetic look. Lance patted his shoulder reassuringly. 

“Look, Lance and I can go talk to Allura, see what’s up with him,” Shiro says calmly. “Hunk, Pidge, you can finish up here. Meet us at atrium at nine and we’ll tell you what we learned. Tell Shay and the others we say hi and we’re sorry we missed them.” With that decided- all Shiro needed to do, really, was tell them something and it was already decided- Shiro grabbed Lance’s shoulders and steered him away, out from behind the counter, out of the dining room, through the hall and into the elevator. 

It was almost empty except for a few people Lance recognized as night workers here. Shiro pressed the button for the sixth floor and settled in to ride in uncomfortable silence with the other three. Lance edged closer to Shiro at the condescending look one lady in a skirt suit sent in their direction. 

Even though Allura was the company president, she was very hands-on. She liked to come down to meals and game nights whenever she could, and she knew all the volunteers personally. She just knew Lance and his friends a little better. All four had been volunteering for at a couple of years, much longer in Shiro’s case. Lance had been with them for six. They were probably the only ones who could get away with walking right into her office like this. 

Just outside of the door marked “President,” Shiro’s phone dinged. The pair stopped so Shiro could read it. 

After a moment, Shiro typed in a quick reply and clicked his phone off, tucking it back into his pocket, looking back up at Lance. “Sorry, Lance, I’ve gotta go,” he said, already starting to walk away gracefully- backwards, of course, because Shiro was good at everything. “Minor emergency. Matt needs me.” He held his phone up and shook it like it was proof. 

Lance sighed. Matt and Shiro had been dating since their freshman year of college. They were adorable, but at times like these their deep, close commitment could be a little frustrating. “Yeah, go,” Lance called after him, and Shiro turned around, walking normally- if a little faster than usual- back to the elevator. 

One of Lance’s eyebrows inched up as he considered all the possibilities of what a “minor emergency” might entail, coming from Shiro’s boyfriend. 

Sighing again, Lance turned back around and knocked twice at Allura’s door before walking in. 

It looked like it always did- like a tornado had gone through with orders to take no prisoners. Files were spilling their guts onto the floor and across various surfaces, cabinets were open and dripping yet more disemboweled files, and what looked like ink was dripping off the desk to stain the carpet. 

Allura looked up from where she was bent over some paperwork on the desk. She smiled through the strain on her face. “Lance,” she greeted in what Lance had always thought of as a posh accent. He wasn’t sure if that was what it was so much as that was just a phrase he liked thinking. Posh accent. Posh accent. Posh, accent. Posh, posh, posh. Accent. 

“What can I do for you?” she asked. Allura might have been an easygoing person at one point, but Lance couldn’t begin to imagine that version of her. She was High Strung, capital H capital S, and constantly stressed. Running the regional headquarters of one of the largest human-trafficking-oriented nonprofits in the world might have had something to do with it. 

Lance pushed some files off a chair and onto the floor to make a place for himself to sit. Her office really was a horrible mess. He grinned charmingly up at her. “What, can’t I stop by and visit my favorite person without an ulterior motive?” he purred, and Allura rolled her eyes. She was smiling, though. Lance took pride in being one of the few people who could always make her smile. 

“So really Lance, what is it?” she asked, and he laughed before sobering. “So, um, I was kind of wondering,” he started, fidgeting a little. 

She was looking at him expectantly, so he just blurted it out. 

“So there was this new guy that I noticed in line and I was curious but then when Shiro and Pidge and I all went over and sat down to talk to him I realized that he was the guy from the raid I went on last night and then I probably said something stupid and he ran away and so Shiro and Pidge and Hunk and I were kind of wondering who he is and what’s going on with him and why he doesn’t talk and I was sorta kinda hoping maybe you could tell me?” 

One breath. He was kinda impressed with himself. 

Allura’s eyebrows had been inching up steadily as he spoke, but now she blew out a breath. “That was a lot of information to get in fifteen seconds,” she said. Lance just looked at her expectantly. 

“Okay,” she said, seeming to settle on a starting place. “Well, I’m not sure if I can really tell you anything…” Lance turned his famous big-pleading-blue-eyes look on her and whined, “He’s too new to have a file, and if he doesn’t have a file you can tell me whatever you want! Please, Allura?” 

She hesitated, so he leaned closer, clasping his hands beneath his chin and turning up the big-pleading-blue-eyes look to its max. There was no way she could say no to this face. 

She sighed. “Fine,” she said resignedly, and Lance grinned hugely. He knew that look would get her. If it could get his hard-ass older sister, it could get anyone. 

She knitted her fingers together and propped her head on them. “I don’t know his name,” she says. “I picked him up from the police station last night and brought him to a Stand Together safe house because it was close and had open beds. He didn’t talk, to anybody, not even the cops. The police couldn’t get a name from his captor either. The man who had… owned him… said that he never knew his name. The people who kidnapped him never got it. The police told me that the man who’d been keeping him had kept him there for six years and that he slept in the garage. They think…” she swallowed and shut her eyes against her next words. “They think that he was a domestic slave, and that he was sexually and physically abused on at least a semi-regular basis.” She forced her eyes open again for the next words. “They haven’t been able to get much solid information out of the captor because he doesn’t want to talk.” Lance let out a shaky breath. He couldn’t even imagine… the hell that that boy went through in a day was probably worse than what Lance had experienced over the course of his entire life. A pang went through his heart at the thought. What would that be like? What would he be like after experiencing that? No wonder the poor boy wouldn’t talk. No wonder he’d run away. “Thank you so much, Allura,” Lance said, pushing himself up from his chair. She nodded and gave him a drained smile. “You’re welcome, Lance. Go home, get some sleep. It’ll be busy tomorrow, you’ll need the rest.” “I will if you will,” Lance said as he headed for the door. He turned as he reached it to see her give him one last weak smile. “I’ll try. Good night, Lance.” With a wave, Lance left her office and took off down the hall. He had something to do.


	9. I Was a Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super short- shortest one yet, actually- flashback to when Keith was eleven. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Also, since I'm coming up on 1000 hits, please leave requests for a bonus chapter! Thank you, enjoy!

I am waiting ‘til there’s nothing left   
I’m a prayer, all you see is breath   
I am empty, I am skin and bones, I’m a ribcage 

11

 

In the kitchen, the sound of flesh striking flesh was echoing, assaulting Keith’s ears over and over and over again. His sleep-hazed mind took a moment to process what he was hearing. 

Roy. Roy was here. And he was hitting Keith’s mother. 

Again. 

Keith stiffened up as his mother let out a soft whimper of pain and Roy’s voice responded with cruel words in a harsh, grating snarl. Keith flinched with every strike, as if Roy was hitting him instead of his mother. 

Roy should have been hitting him instead of his mother. 

Silently, Keith rolled out of bed, his bare feet scratching against their worn carpet. He walked silently to the kitchen, where his mother was on the floor, Roy bent over and caressing her swollen face with one finger. The buttons on her shirt were ripped, most of them ripped off, and scattered across the kitchen floor. Keith felt rage flare dully in his chest. She was crying, tears spilling down her swollen, bleeding purple cheeks. 

Roy straightened up and drew back his arm to strike her again. 

Keith slid in front of her, staring up at Roy expressionlessly with hands loose at his sides. He knew this wasn’t a fight he could win. 

The man snarled, lips twisting up into a cruel grimace. “Touching,” he whispered, and then brought his fist down. 

Keith didn’t make a single move to fight back or to escape. He absorbed every single blow. 

He was nothing. He felt nothing. He was nothing. 

Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I know it was super short but hopefully you liked it! Please comment with bonus chapter requests below!


	10. (BONUS) Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter for 1000 hits- flashing back a few years to Shiro's freshman year of college when he meets Matt and Pidge! Enjoy!

__

Looking for something I’ve never seen  
Alone and I’m in between 

 

Shiro swallowed the rest of his coffee in one pull and tossed the cup in the trash, pulling his hand through his hair with a sigh. College was kicking his ass, and he had only barely started first semester. It was going to be a ridiculously long four years. 

The tapping of his fingers against his leg tripled in speed. He didn’t have any classes today, but he felt like he needed to be doing something. He hated sitting around idly. Being bored for any length of time drove him absolutely insane. Stir-crazy in half a second flat. He had to get up. 

He gave the barista attending the counter a friendly wave, and she smiled back at him as he walked out the door. This coffee shop was so close to campus that it got an insanely heavy student traffic, including but not limited to Shiro. He was there pretty much every day, sometimes twice a day. He probably drank too much coffee, but he didn’t know how else he was supposed to function on the three hours of sleep his workload afforded. 

He walked aimlessly for an hour, growing more frustrated with every passing minute. He still wasn’t doing anything. His fingers started tapping against the bicep of his folded arms as he waited at an intersection. New York was interesting- diverse, fun- but sometimes it was frustrating to live there. Like when the intersections came to a standstill. 

So. Damn. Frustrating. 

He sighed, started tapping his foot along with his fingers. He saw a businessman give him a sidelong look but ignored it. Maybe Second Chance would let him do something even though he wasn’t scheduled for today. Maybe he could find a gym. Or a class. Or a workshop. _Something_. He just had to find something to occupy himself with. 

He was considering going back toward campus- he was the head of a few different committees there, he could probably find something that needed to be done- when he caught movement in the corner of his eye. He turned to find its source. 

Two people were walking down the street side by side. They looked remarkably similar, but one was clearly more feminine, with longer hair and… _prettier_ features. Brother and sister, had to be. The boy looked to be about Shiro’s age, while the girl was maybe twelve or thirteen. Each had one hand on a book they appeared to be sharing between them, reading as they walked down the street. They didn’t seem to notice anything going on around them. 

A smile quirked up the corners of Shiro’s lips. It was adorable, actually. If he had a sister, he’d want to be like that with her. 

He was so locked in his reverie, so busy watching them, that he didn’t notice that they had started into the street even though the crosswalk light was still a blaring red. 

It took him a moment to process, but then his entire body stiffened with alarm. “Sh-!” The expletive was carried away on the wind. 

A metro bus was barreling right toward them, and didn’t look like it was stopping any time soon. 

“Son of a-” Shiro started. The bus was bearing down fast, way too fast for such a busy street. He didn’t waste time thinking about it. 

While the rest of the people waiting at the corner for the crosswalk light to turn stared with mouths gaping open, Shiro lunged forward, way too far into the street- how had they managed to get so far out here without him noticing?- and grabbed each of them by the arm, yanking them back toward the sidewalk and hauled them up onto the curb just as the bus blew by with a shriek of the horn and a cloud of exhaust. 

Both of them were looking up at him with mouths gaping open. The sameness of face and expression might have been comical under any other circumstances. 

“Are you okay?” Shiro asked, looking them both up and down to check for injuries. They looked okay, but Shiro’s heart was still pounding. If he’d been half a second slower… 

Both of them were still looking at him, all three frozen in place as the light on the crosswalk finally turned and people started moving forward all around them. 

“Well,” the boy finally said. “Shit.” 

After another moment of blank staring, Shiro started to laugh shakily. The entire thing was just _so absurd_. What had just happened? 

His laughter became uncontrollable, shaking his entire body as he doubled over, trying to breathe and mostly failing. He knew he was probably hysterical, but it was kind of hard to care. 

Just when he was starting to think that he really, really needed to stop, another voice joined his, laughing just as hard. He looked up, tears blurring his vision, to see the boy and girl both laughing as well, the boy out loud and doubled over like him, the girl silently with tears rolling down her face. 

“Maybe- Mom- was right,” the boy gasped through his laughter. “We do- read- too much-” he cut off with an even sharper cackle, and all three- despite the other two not knowing Shiro- collapsed against each other, laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe, so hard that tears rolled down their faces and passersby stared like they were insane. Maybe they were. 

It took them several more minutes to pull themselves together, but when they did, they straightened, and Shiro took a step back. The boy looked at him. His expression was sober now as he adjusted his glasses and turned sincere eyes on Shiro. Shiro almost had to look away at the intensity and intelligence behind intriguing light brown eyes. 

“Seriously, I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “You saved both our lives,” he added, wrapping an arm around his sister’s shoulders. Shiro managed a small smile. “It was nothing,” he said, kicking himself for sounding like every cliched movie hero ever. “I’m just glad you’re both okay.” 

The boy nodded and smiled, and Shiro caught his breath- holy _shit_. 

“Matt Holt,” the boy said, extending a hand to shake. Shiro took it, saying, “Shiro,” and he couldn’t resist smiling back. 

The girl was tugging on her brother’s arm. “ _Coffee_ ,” she said insistently, her face just as adamant as her tone. She turned to Shiro and smiled at him, still pulling at her brother’s sleeve. “Pidge,” she said, extending a hand toward him with that same smile on her face, even as her brother winced. Shiro laughed and shook her hand. “Shiro,” he said again through his laughter. 

Matt finally succeeded in prying his sister’s hand off his sleeve. “She’s seriously _addicted_ to coffee,” Matt said apologetically as she started bouncing on her toes again. “She’s only twelve but I swear she couldn’t live without it.” She shook her head emphatically and Matt rolled his eyes in a fond/exasperated kind of way. 

“Um,” Matt said, fidgeting a little, “want to come with us? We’re just getting coffee, but it’s my treat.” 

Shiro smiled. Something about this boy… 

“Sure, I’d love to,” he said, and Matt smiled back at him. 

The three of them turned and walked back down the street.


	11. Prevent This Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith wallows in his room. Enjoy!
> 
> (Short and maybe kinda boring but more action next chapter I promise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a few days to update! Got kind of busy but the next chapter should be up by Friday night at the absolute latest

_Nothing to hold, all hope deleted_   
_Our demise has been completed now_   
_Nowhere left to go but down_

 

No one bothered Keith the rest of the night. He slept fitfully, waking up every few minutes from nightmares or noise. He’d always been a light sleeper, but tonight was especially bad. By the time the early-morning commuters started flooding the streets, he didn’t think he’d gotten more than half an hour of sleep at a time. 

He gave up trying to sleep around five in the morning. Frost had collected on both windows, cold air seeping in through the windows to illuminate the single tally mark scratched into the faded paint on the wall. 

Scores of them were scratched into the walls of the garage that had been his whole world for six years. He had always counted, but he never used to mark them- until one morning in particular. 

It had been five hundred sixty-seven days. He had woken up to the sound of glass shattering and a shout of, “Get your ass in here, you worthless little shit!” The old bastard had thrown a glass bottle at the door to the garage. 

Keith had laid still for another moment, staring at the ceiling of the garage. Day five hundred sixty-seven. Wait, no. He furrowed his brow. Sixty-six? 

His fingers started tapping at four times their normal pace. He couldn’t remember how long it had been. He had to remember, he had to _remember_ \- 

Sixty-seven. He was sure. The memory came flooding back of the morning before, lying in this exact same place in this exact same way, thinking sixty-six. 

Something else shattered, something that sounded far more substantial than a bottle. Keith got up and slid on his tattered shoes, prepping for the mess that was sure to be waiting for him in the house. 

That night, when he finally got back to the garage, he spent the entire night scratching tally marks into the garage wall. 

He never missed a single day. 

He wasn’t really sure why he had done it tonight. Maybe it was habit, or maybe he was still subconsciously counting away, but there was a tally nonetheless. 

He was listening when people started to get up. And when people started arriving in their offices upstairs. When the dining hall opened for breakfast below. When morning volunteers started leaving. When the residents followed. 

Not a single person came to his room all day, and he was glad. He’d fucked up already with the volunteers that had tried to talk to him last night, and with everyone else who had ever come into contact with him. It was better that people just stayed away- he was sick of screwing everything up. And really, what was there to screw up if he was never in the presence of other people? 

After hours of lying there motionless, near-comatose, he finally stood. He went to the window and looked down. The street wasn’t so very far away, not from four stories up. He could see people hurrying down the streets toward something important they’d forgotten or strolling casually side-by-side with their friends, enjoying their lunch breaks. Normal people having normal days with their normal friends in their normal lives. 

He could be one of them. 

He pressed a hand to the screen, then let it fall away. What-ifs were a waste of time. 

He wondered, then, why they were always on his mind. 

He paced back and forth for hours, lost in thought. He added a tally mark to the wall. He unmade and remade both beds twice. He sat on the bed and tried to recall old songs he only remembered fragments of. He laid down and tried to sleep. He gave up on sleep and let himself get lost in his thoughts again. 

No one came. 

Maybe soon he would start to fade. 

 

Second Chance didn’t serve lunch, he was sure enough. They did, however, serve dinner to a fairly large group, which he could hear coming through the doors several stories below. Not subtle at all. The ghost of a smile made the corner of his lips twitch. He wondered what that was like. His entire life was a practice in subtlety. 

The window frame was broad enough that he had discovered he could sit in it. He went there now, dropping down and turning his eyes to the streets below. Everyone was still so busy, but the air had a feeling of winding down as people went home for the day. He knew that the energy would return soon, though; people only stayed calm for so long before the nightlife bubbled back up to fill the silence. 

Dinner came and went, and silence reigned again as workers went home, the smaller, quieter night shift took over, and people using rooms went to sleep. Keith stayed in the windowsill, watching club-goers and college kids stumble drunkenly through the streets below or race giddily down the sidewalk with friends in tow. He closed his eyes and imagined himself among them. 

He didn’t try to sleep again that night, because every time he laid down his eyes sprang open wider than they had been before. So he sat in that windowsill and watched, or he paced in front of the pane and watched, or he stood as still as he could and looked down and watched. It was interesting, to him, the way people interacted with each other, with their surroundings. 

He had considered it, again and again, if he wished he was one of them, some blissfully ignorant, hopelessly carefree college student moving with a pack of people who cared about him and wandering about the city just to find something fun to do. He’d decided that he didn’t. 

He knew that his life wasn’t good, was bad, even. But he didn’t want to… replace it. Wish it away like experiences were nothing. He’d seen the good and the bad in people, and he’d seen sides of himself that maybe… maybe he never would have found otherwise. He didn’t pity himself, really. That was all that mattered, wasn’t it? 

Someday, he could have a normal life if that was what he wanted. He could have all the experiences the people below him were having, have friends and a job and a house. Someday, he could be… something, maybe. 

For now, he was content to sit and watch. 

 

Nobody came for three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was hoping for some feedback on what you guys think the bonus chapter for 2000 hits should be. One of the ideas I had was a bit more on Shiro and Matt (with a little bit of Pidge thrown in for good measure), or maybe just one where Shiro meets Hunk and introduces him to the other two? I'm also open to other ideas, so if you guys have any feedback for me I'd really appreciate it! Thank you!


	12. Endgame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone- I bet you can guess who- finally came to talk to Keith

_Let’s shed this unclean skin_  
_And start to feel again_  
_Cuz all the shoulders_  
_On which to cry are gone_

 

It was the night of the third day when there was finally a knock at the door. 

Keith lifted his head. His neck was stiff from staring down out the window all day. For the first two days he had moved around- pacing, occasionally attempting sleep, standing beside the window- but by the time three in the morning had come around today, he’d given up, curling into the window frame, leaning his head against the side, and just… watching. 

He heard shuffling outside the door, and then another knock. A throat cleared. “I, uh, can I come in?” After a moment, the door knob twisted, then abruptly stopped. Keith’s eyes darted down. The door was locked. 

He made a split-second decision. Standing, he crossed the room in a few quick strides, flipped the lock, and flew back to the safety of his windowsill. 

He clutched at his knees. What, exactly, did he just do? 

There was another shuffling sound outside the door, and then the knob started to turn again. This time, it didn’t stop. 

Standing outside was the boy from the garage and the dining hall. Lance. He was wringing his hands anxiously, but upon seeing Keith perched in the windowsill, his face adopted a warm smile. Keith tilted his head slightly. Why was he smiling? 

His eyes remained locked on Keith’s as he moved slowly into the room. Every step was cautious and smooth. Moving like he was trying not to scare Keith away. 

Keith almost wanted to roll his eyes. He wasn’t _that_ skittish. 

His face remained impassive. 

Lance shut the door and moved to lean against the empty dresser next to the door. Not too close to Keith, which was fine by him. Physically far away, emotionally far away. That was the best way to do this. Chances were good that they’d turn him out to fend for himself soon anyway, or send him to a psych ward, maybe. No knowing until it happened. 

Either way, he couldn’t trust that this was going to last. The quiet sanctuary of this corner bedroom could only remain undisturbed for so long. 

“You haven’t been at dinner the last few nights, or breakfast,” Lance said, watching Keith carefully. Wouldn’t do him much good. “I asked the servers for all the meals. No one has seen you. Have you even been getting water?” 

Keith didn’t respond. Lance changed tacts. “I’ve been wondering about you. I, um… I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you at first. It was a hectic night, you know? Cops everywhere and all those floodlights, and then the news vans- crazy. I can’t even imagine how it must have been for you…” Lance trailed off, eyes going glassy as he thought back. Keith watched closely. Lance was so… _unguarded_. He didn’t have all those shields up, like so many other people. He just… went for it, it seemed. 

“Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for that. I should have figured it out sooner- I mean, you’re very, um…” Lance went red and looked away, coughing a little. “Um, you’re very memorable. I mean, the whole situation was memorable. I mean-” He cut himself off, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. His face was still flushed red. Keith wanted to smile so badly it hurt. 

Lance composed himself and looked back up at Keith. His eyes were really a beautiful color, so _blue_ … 

Lance gave him a shy, beautiful smile, and Keith’s heart skipped a beat. What the hell was _happening_ right now? 

He’d always been so good with his emotions. He wasn’t quite sure how to react now, when it was getting harder and harder to hold himself in check around this _complete stranger_. 

There. That was the wake-up call he needed. He didn’t know this boy. He had met him a few days ago, talked to him once before now, and had been forgotten by him within the span of twenty-four hours. He didn’t know anything about him beyond the fact that his name was Lance and he had amazing eyes. And that his walls were down and his smile was welcoming and that he made Keith almost _want_ to talk… 

No, no, _no_. Stranger. _Stranger_. 

“So, I guess you don’t really feel like talking, huh?” Lance said on a little huff of laughter. “Shiro- that’s the tall one with the black and white hair, if you didn’t remember- thinks it’s because you’ve undergone trauma and you’re choosing not to talk, or, like, you can’t talk, because it was so… you know, _traumatic_. But I don’t know. Pidge thinks- oh, she was the girl in the green shirt with the glasses- that you just didn’t like us. I don’t know though. Maybe…” 

Lance paused delicately. “Maybe someday you’ll tell me?” he suggested, looking up at Keith. 

Keith stared back at him for a long moment. 

He shrugged. 

He didn’t see Allura’s jaw falling open in the hallway, or Lance’s following suit. He had already turned back to his window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey- so I just wanted to apologize for, well, a few things. Firstly, getting the chapter up so late- the week turned out busier than I expected. Secondly, for it being such a short chapter- I did intend for it to be longer but I wanted to make sure I got something up quickly so I decided to cut it a little shorter. Thirdly, for my increasingly sloppy chapter titles. 
> 
> Also, thank you for reading! Please comment and leave your vote or request for the next bonus chapter, some of my ideas for it should be on either chapter ten or eleven. Thanks for reading, enjoy!


	13. Help Is on the Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith has a sort-of interaction with Lance... involving a lullaby, a jacket, and a very insistent plea that he come to meals.

_My bones all resonate_  
A burning lullaby  
You can’t take that from me  
Just go ahead and try 

 

Lance had tried to talk to Keith for another ten minutes after the latter had shrugged, to less than no avail. Keith hadn’t looked away from the window, no matter what Lance had tried. When the other boy had finally given up, defeated, Keith almost felt guilty for his obstinance- but really, why should he? The world had proven to him over and over again that it was hostile and could never accept him, no matter what place he thought he had found or whatever friends or allies he thought he might have made. 

Despite the number of times Lance had brought up meals and hydration- not-so-subtle-hints dropped exactly sixteen times, Keith had counted- Keith still hadn’t left the room. He couldn’t bring himself to leave his sanctuary, plagued by the fear that it would be gone or corrupted by the time he returned, even if he just went the six steps down the hall to the bathrooms or the water fountains. 

That, and he had no desire to see any other human beings for as long as he could possible manage. 

Except maybe Lance… 

Keith counted backward in his head, glancing at the horizon. The sky was turning the pale gray of early morning, and he saw the edge of the sun cresting the ends of the earth in the distance, visible in the east as he peered down the street, through the tangled spread of buildings stretching far into the distance. From here, he could see to the edges of the city. 

It had been about seven hours, then, since Lance had left, and Keith still couldn’t get the boy’s blue eyes out of his head. The color of the sea, deep and dark and enthralling. They floated against the backs of his eyelids every time he so much as blinked and seemed, every now and then, to be staring back at him from the pane of the window he’d been leaning against for the last seven hours- for the last four days, really- and gazing at him while he watched the city, alive and moving far below. 

He looked down to the street, then back at the sun. It was… Saturday now. They started serving breakfast in an hour. 

Propping a fist beneath his chin, he looked down. Golden light was spilling from open doors and windows onto the dull gray sidewalk. The entire city in the morning was always a scape of gray, gray buildings gray ground gray sky, splashed with color- the lights from the windows, the faint gold-orange-red-pink glow of the sun on the horizon, the signs posted on windows and facades suiting everything from advertisements to propaganda to statements. It was a bizarre and yet utterly beautiful patchwork of human _everything_. 

Hours passed, ticking away with the shifting of the sun across the sky. He heard the rise and fall of the clamor of breakfast beneath him, heard restless feet in meetings above him, watched the weekend lunch rush, packed with tourists, locals and professionals alike, bustle past below him, felt the stampeding feet of the dinnertime meal service passing by through the halls and through the streets and dining hall below him. Another day, come and gone. Another day of refuge in his own miniscule corner of the world. 

Though dinner was served from six to nine, it usually took until about ten for the building to regain any semblance of quiet. Tonight was no exception. He could hear people cleaning in the dining hall, three stories below him, and people settling into rooms all round and below. Slowly, they were closing out their own days, albeit in a different manner than he was. He tried to put himself in one of their heads- waking up in a bed here, going down to breakfast, heading out to accomplish- or attempt to accomplish- some preordained purpose or another, coming back, eating dinner with friends or at least people who knew him, laughing, joking, talking, actually _enjoying_ himself, coming back to bed, sleeping the day away so he could wake up and do it again. 

It was a lovely fantasy, in its way. But nothing he was entirely sure he wanted. He was content, odd though it may be, to stay here, locked inside and away from the people he could do harm to or who could do harm to him, to sit and watch and wait until he thought maybe he could try again. Try to make himself worth something. 

Not today, but maybe tomorrow. 

A knock came at the door, and his head swiveled to stare blankly. It had barely been twenty-four hours. Was Lance…? 

He was about to get up when something slid under the door. He cocked his head, puzzled, but rocked back a bit, unsure what was happening or how, exactly, to react. He heard shuffling feet- now _that_ was familiar- a throat cleared, another quick, light knock, and then feet walking away. 

Cautiously, eyes glued to the door, Keith stood up and crept closer. He picked up the thing that had been slid under the door- a piece of paper- and warily flipped the lock to swing the door open. 

On the floor of the hallway, just outside the door, was a jacket, atop which a sealed envelope and a water bottle sat. Keith looked up and down the hallway and saw no one. Gathering everything up in his arms, he retreated inside, shut the door, and flipped the lock once again. 

Sitting down, he looked first at the piece of paper in his hands. It said nothing except _PLEASE?!_ in letters large enough to take up almost the whole page. He stared blankly down at it. What the hell…? 

He looked back at the jacket and the two things sitting on top of it. Upon seeing the water bottle again, his throat seized, dry and aching. He snatched up the water and all but ripped the top off, his thirst now uncontrollable. He downed the whole thing in one go, wondering at how much, in that moment, he truly loved water. 

As he carefully set the bottle back down, he picked up the envelope and curiously turned it over, examining it. Completely blank. Prying it open, he pulled out a single sheet of paper, folded three times. A letter. The handwriting was nice in a ragged kind of way, interesting in its curves and angles. His mind instantly shot to Lance as he unfolded it. 

_Dear Person,_

_Seeing as you don’t want to talk, I can’t address this to “Dear (your name here),” which is frustrating, but I’m gonna write this anyway._  
So, (again), it seems like you don’t really want to talk. Which is totally cool. I mean, we get it. (We is me, Shiro, Pidge, and Hunk by the way, and if all goes well, I hope you’ll meet them soon, they’re super nerdy and weird and rejects of normal society but they’re awesome [thumbs-up goes here].) But I thought that maybe, even if you don’t want to talk, maybe you needed someone to talk to you, so… letter.  
This isn’t to convince you to talk to me or anything like that. I just wanted to make sure that you knew that you could, because… I don’t know, I guess maybe someday you’ll feel like you need to talk to somebody. I mean, there are counselors here for that, but I’m just saying. All of us would totally talk to you and be a friend to you, if you ever thought that maybe you might kinda need or want that.  
Anyway, I do have one request- would you PLEASE start coming to meals? I mean, you don’t have to talk or interact with people and we’ll all leave you alone if you want, but, you know, food is good for you. And Hunk is a GOOD cook, trust me. And going for, like five days without food and water is NOT good for you. So just… please?  
Please?  
Please?  
Please? 

 

Keith glanced at the other piece of paper, resting on the floor next to his foot, and almost smiled. Made more sense now. 

 

_Anyway… I’m reeeaaalllyyy not good at writing letters so I’m just gonna stop before, I, like, make you hate me or something. So… bye?_

_PLEASE COME TO MEALS,  
Lance_

_P.S. At least drink the water_

_P.P.S. You looked cold…_

 

Keith looked down at the jacket, still sitting on the floor in front of him, and fought the urge to burst into an utterly ridiculous smile. It was the jacket Lance had been wearing every time Keith had seen him before- a greenish color with a light hood, dark shoulders, and yellow stripes around the biceps. 

 

_P.P.P.S. Read the fine print!_

_P.P.P.P.S. You looked like you hadn’t slept in literal years last night and I assume you didn’t sleep last night either. I don’t know why, but if it’s because you can’t fall asleep… well I always used to be super hyper so to get me to actually go to bed and sleep my mom had to sing my favorite lullaby. I don’t know if you know it but here it is for you anyway, maybe it’ll help:_

_Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,_  
Smiles await you when you rise.  
Sleep,  
Pretty baby,  
Do not cry,  
And I will sing a lullaby.  
Cares you know not,  
Therefore sleep,  
While over you a watch I'll keep.  
Sleep,  
Pretty darling,  
Do not cry,  
And I will sing a lullaby. 

 

The paper fluttered from Keith’s fingers and landed lightly on the floor. He barely noticed. His eyes burned as he stared, wide-eyed, at the wall opposite him. 

_Golden slumbers kiss your eyes…_

He could hear his mother’s voice, floating through years and miles. He remembered when her voice, those words of golden slumbers and soft smiles, her calming tone, had wrapped him up and made him feel safe. His memories seemed drenched in the blinding brightness of fire as he saw her kindly smiling face, before it was ravaged by years and smoke and alcohol and stress, when she still smiled that way, when she still sang lullabies and held him tightly and her face was the last thing he saw before he slept because she always sat in the chair at his bedside, fending off the monsters hiding in the shadows. 

Eyes wide, he clutched the letter to his chest, forcing down the lump in his throat and the memory of her voice and the gold-drenched image of her face floating through his head and the burning sensation tearing at his eyes. 

He was better than the years that had passed him by or run away without waiting for him to catch up. Tucking everything rampaging through is head safely away, he looked down, brushing his fingers across the material of the jacket and then, before he could question his impulses, sweeping it off the floor and pulling it on. 

It was warm and comforting, and it made him think of ocean-blue eyes and a smile he could lose himself in. 

Carefully folding the letter back into thirds, then again into sixths, he tucked it into the coat pocket. As he tucked it away, he remembered something else it had said… read the fine print. 

He pulled it out again, unfolded it, and skimmed the whole paper. Nothing. He flipped it over. Blank. 

Finally, his eyes fell once more on the paper that had been pushed beneath the door before, the one that read only _PLEASE_. He picked it up and scanned across it. 

There. He caught something. Pulling the paper closer, he saw, in the tiniest handwriting he’d ever seen, the phrase “COME TO MEALS.” 

His lips twitched, and once more- multiple times that night, probably a new record- he had to fight back a smile. 

Tucking the letter once more into his pocket, he folded the other paper as well and tucked it beneath the pillow on the bed he’d decided was his own. Setting the water bottle on the dresser where Lance had stood the night before, he burrowed further into the jacket- Lance’s jacket- and returned to the windowsill. 

As a laughing group of four spilled from the doors stories and stories below him, he imagined that it was Lance with the people he loved, all enjoying the night and each other’s company, happy to be where they were. 

Though he bit his lip and his face didn’t move, his eyes expressed the biggest smile he’d worn in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting more chapters- I took kind of a break from technology (you can't tell me you've never had a day where you've wanted to toss your computer/phone/etc. in the Pacific)- but I'm back now and plan to post three chapters tonight and tomorrow, bonus chapter for 2000 hits included. Hopefully chapters will be getting longer now too, fingers crossed! 
> 
> Also, the lullaby I used was NOT something I wrote, just in case anybody didn't know that already, just making sure, it's called Golden Slumbers and I found it on Google so... 
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment and enjoy!


	14. Settle For Satin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback chapter- Keith's kidnapping

_But there is comfort in a world  
Where darkness is the only thing we see   
And cold is all we have to breathe_

11

 

Keith had always found ways to be thankful for- and make use of- his particular talent for becoming invisible. Using it to hide a limp was a fairly recent discovery- within the last few years or so- but startlingly useful. People didn’t notice- or care, maybe- as he hobbled by down the street, toward his house. 

Middle school hadn’t, as Keith had expected, seen a decrease in the number of bruises on himself or his classmates. In elementary school, the middle schoolers had seemed so old and so big, almost god-like. Utterly untouchable. They were stronger, he had been so sure. They could stand up to their parents or at least do a better job of escaping. They would all be safer in middle school. 

Now, almost done with sixth grade, he had long let go of that hope, letting it fall away like so much garbage- just like so many other hopes he’d harbored and abandoned over the years. It was routine, he was sure, for many of the people he knew. They just weren’t willing to admit it to each other, like he would never admit it to them. 

He looked across the street at a park. It was teeming with children just out of school, backpacks abandoned in piles on the wood chips as they chased each other tirelessly. A few parents lounged on benches, gossiping or on their phones or watching their children like hawks. He smiled slightly at the scene. It was almost picturesque, movie-like in an overwhelmingly normal way. 

He continued down the street, shifting his backpack and wincing as the straps bit into his shoulders. He hated it, but the bag was cheap, so his mother had insisted. His shoulders were screaming, and he was beginning to legitimately worry that, at any moment, they might just break off, as if he were a concrete statue instead of a human boy. 

A turn erased the sounds of children playing from the air. He breathed deeply, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes. The sun was warm, almost too hot on his face, somewhere on the brink of pleasure and pain. The street was blissfully silent, the only person in sight Keith himself. He relished the opportunity to be alone, knowing it might not happen again for a long time. He was lucky to get a few seconds to himself a day, living in such close quarters with his mother and with Roy over more and more often. It wasn’t something he was particularly eager to get home to, so he slowed down, nearly stopping, reveling in the peace. 

A low rumble sounded in his ears. He opened his eyes to see a car rolling down the street, glinting dully in the sun as it passed him by, turning the corner he’d rounded only a few seconds ago. 

He’d wish, later, that he had run after it. Back to the safety of the park and the parents and the noise. 

He kept walking, slowly but faster than before. Reluctant as he was to go, they wouldn’t be happy if he was too late. 

He took no notice of the van rumbling down the street, painted a matte black, windows tinted dark. 

He didn’t see the driver lock eyes on him, gesture to someone in the back. 

He wasn’t watching when that person shoved a loaded pistol into their belt. 

He did see the van stop. He slowed his pace, walking slowly as he stared at it, wondering why it was stopped in the middle of the road. He cocked his head curiously, slowing even further as the doors in the back opened and a man jumped out. He looked scruffy, wearing jeans and a stained gray t-shirt. Keith picked up his pace ever-so-slightly as he noticed the man’s eyes on him. He had learned to be afraid when adults looked at him like that. 

Of course, fear had been beaten out of him long ago. Maybe if it hadn’t, he would have run. Maybe, he would have made it back to the park. 

Maybe he wouldn’t have turned away, allowing the man to get so much closer. 

He turned around, coming to a stop and eyeing the man who was now only ten feet away. He looked feral, wild, almost hungry. His eyes were glinting with a hint of something Keith didn’t like. He began to back away, eyes fixed on the man who was pacing him with an unhurried step. 

Something shone in the back of the van. Keith peered past the man in front of him to look more closely. Were those… eyes? Were there _people_ back there? 

Looking away was his fatal mistake. He realized it half a second to late, though a half a second was as long as he had looked away. 

He looked away from the vehicle just in time to catch a glimpse of the little girl in the back of the van- gagged, bound, and covered in blood and grime- shaking her head at him with wide eyes as the man lunged forward, clapping a hand over Keith’s mouth and hauling him back toward the van. 

He struggled with everything he had, twisting and kicking and clawing and punching at anything he could hit. It wasn’t nearly enough. He was thrown into the back of the van, breath whooshing out of him on impact. 

He could _not_ be here. This couldn’t be happening, he wouldn’t let it. No, no, no, this was _not_ where he was supposed to end, how he was supposed to end, what was supposed to happen to him- 

He surged up from the floor, lunging for the still-open doors of the van. He could see the street, the door was open, there was no one blocking it, he could escape- 

He never got the chance. 

He felt the cold bite of a needle plunging into the back of his neck just in time to fall to the floor and watch as the face of the girl who had shaken her head faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is another really short chapter but I think I'm going to keep flashback chapters pretty short for the most part... 
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you liked it!


	15. Dream (BONUS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback bonus for 2000 hits from Pidge and Shiro's perspectives about Matt and Shiro, and Pidge being wonderfully evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY LANCE 
> 
> Also- thanks to KTB for a chapter title/lyrics and for literally the whole premise of this chapter, I would crash and burn without you. You are without a doubt the best beta of all time. 
> 
> But also HAPPY BIRTHDAY LANCE

_It’s not what you painted in my head_  
_There’s so much there instead_  
_Of all the colors that I saw_

 

Shiro’s apartment was a small one-bedroom with an island in the kitchen and a surprisingly large bathroom. It was on the twelfth floor of a fourteen-story building and had a view and a rooftop garden, which were some of Pidge’s favorite things about it. She loved Shiro’s apartment, but that was only half the reason she enjoyed coming here so much. 

Pidge, Matt, and the owner of said apartment spilled in the door, Matt beelining for Shiro’s chair while Shiro made for the island, dropping his keys and wallet on the countertop. Pidge followed along after them, contentedly sucking on a green apple lollipop. 

They had known Shiro for about six months now. After the first day, the three became something close to inseparable. Of course, Shiro had fed Pidge’s coffee addiction since the very beginning, which had helped. But she really had grown to love him- he was a great friend, despite being the same age as her college freshman brother. Smart, too, which was good because she was quite positive that she and Matt would have gotten bored of him by now if he wasn’t, which would suck because a) he was a good friend and b) he had saved their lives. 

Naturally, her brother was also head-over-heels for him. Just as naturally, Shiro was completely clueless, but Pidge had a _plan_. 

It had come to her the night before as she sat solving and re-solving a Rubix cube over and over again, watching code scroll by on her computer screens. It had been something like three AM and she couldn’t stop thinking about how much she wanted coffee, and then, out of nowhere, she knew exactly what to do. Probably the literal oldest trick in the book, but it could also be effective if played right. 

An evil grin crept across her face as she watched Shiro search the fridge for something to drink. 

Shiro turned back around and walked into the living room, where Pidge was perched on the armrest of his couch, tapping out morse code, and Matt was spinning round and round in the swivel chair at Shiro’s desk. She watched him shake his head with a little grin at their endlessly fidgety states of being and tilted her head as she saw his eyes travel back to Matt over and over again. She smiled slightly. This might be even easier than she thought. 

“I want strawberries,” she announced to the room at large. Matt brought his feet down, effectively stopping the chair, while Shiro ran a hand through his hair. 

“Um, I don’t think I have any,” he said thoughtfully, turning back to rummage through the fridge again. He came back a moment later, shaking his head. “Sorry Pidge, fresh out,” he told her. 

Well, she already knew that. 

“Didn’t you say you were growing some on the roof?” she asked innocently, pointing upward. She knew he was because after he had mentioned it last week she’d double checked. And then triple checked. 

She got up, heading toward the kitchen. She passed by Shiro just as he turned and started for the table, discreetly pulling his phone out of his pocket. She glanced up. Neither of them had noticed. She fought down a smirk and tucked the phone into her own pocket. She kept walking, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge before returning to the couch. Phase one complete. 

“Yeah, I’ve got some up there,” Shiro said distractedly as he flipped through the mail. “Actually, they’re probably ripe by now. You want me to go check?” 

“Yes please,” she said, bouncing slightly on the couch. Matt was tapping the fingers of both hands and one of his feet, though he had stopped spinning the chair. He was absentmindedly reciting the periodic table under his breath- the book they had been reading earlier had mentioned the origins of the table. She smiled. God, she loved her brother. 

Shiro nodded and dropped the mail, satisfied that it was all junk, and headed for the door. “Alright, I’ll go look. Be back in a few,” he said, letting himself out. 

As soon as he was out the door, Pidge stood again. Her brother didn’t notice, absorbed as he was in a science textbook Shiro had left on the desk. 

Retrieving Shiro’s phone from her pocket, Pidge set it gently down on the island next to his keys and wallet. So far, everything was going perfectly. If that was any indicator, this should be easy. She was a good liar, if not a good actress, and that was all she really needed. 

She gasped, widening her eyes and opening her mouth. “Oh, crap,” she said, and her brother looked up, slightly concerned. “What’s wrong, Pidge?” he asked, textbook forgotten. She turned to him, doing her best to look distressed. Her brother was pretty gullible, so hopefully he’d fall for it, but he was also ridiculously smart, so there was an equally good chance that he’d see right through her. 

“I left something on the roof the other day when we were here,” she said, putting a hand to her mouth and sucking on her knuckle like she knew she did sometimes when she was thinking. “I completely forgot,” she said, pacing. 

She actually _had_ left a flash drive up there, just in case. She didn’t think she’d need it, but… 

Matt’s brow furrowed, and a pang of worry went through her chest. Did he not believe her? “What’d you leave?” he asked. “A flash drive. I need it back,” she said, bringing her hand up again to conceal the lower half of her face. 

“So text Shiro to bring it down for you,” he said, already losing interest as he turned back to the textbook still open in his hands. 

“Can’t,” she said, pointing at the phone she’d just set on the island. “He left this.” Her brother looked up again and swore under his breath. “You need it now?” he asked. She nodded, trying to look a little pitiful. 

Matt, if not always the best with human interactions- they both suffered from hereditary awkwardness- could always be counted on to be chivalrous, especially for her. They’d always been close, despite the age gap, so she was ninety-eight percent sure he’d- 

“I’ll go get it for you. Where is it?” 

do that. She almost smiled at the ease of it all, but held herself in check and said, “Yes please!” Her fingers started tapping rapidly against the countertop of the island as Matt set the textbook aside- back on Shiro’s desk exactly like he’d found it like the polite young gentleman he was- and headed for the door. “Back in a few,” he said as he ducked out. 

She grinned gleefully to herself as he walked out the door. This was ridiculously easy so far, even better than she’d hoped. She should have tried something sooner. If she’d known it would go this well, she would have. 

She dashed to the counter for the coffee she’d left there before following her brother out the door. 

She caught a flash of movement as Matt turned the corner up ahead just as she walked out the door and hurried to follow him. Dropping a hand into the pocket of her favorite jacket, she was reassured by the cool metal of the key ring she’d stolen from a janitor earlier. She’d always been a pretty decent pickpocket, and she could pick locks. Matt said she’d make an excellent thief if she ever felt the urge. 

She grinned. Not something to pursue, but definitely helpful at times like these. 

She followed her brother at a safe distance all the way to the rooftop access door. She hid behind the last corner as he climbed the steep ladder-stairs hybrid and pushed open the door. 

As soon as it shut behind him, she darted forward, keys already in hand, and locked it. 

Evil smile firmly in place, she retreated down the hallway and back to Shiro’s apartment. 

***  
[Shiro]

Pidge was going to be ecstatic. The strawberry plant was bursting with bright red fruit, which Shiro was collecting in a makeshift bowl he’d made from the bottom of his t-shirt. 

He heard the door open behind him and squinted through the dying rays of the setting sun to see who it was. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Matt shutting the access door behind himself. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of messy brown hair and large, intelligent brown eyes, like it always did. 

“Hey,” Shiro said, and Matt grinned at him as he walked over. That smile was more blinding than the setting sun in his eyes. 

Matt was almost to Shiro now, opening his mouth to say something. Shiro waited for him to ask about the strawberries, or the rest of the garden, something like that, but instead what fell from his lips was, “Prolonged exposure to sunlight damages the eyes.” He held out a pair of sunglasses, which he had taken from his pocket when Shiro wasn’t looking. 

Shiro stared for a moment, then laughed. The Holt siblings were endlessly entertaining, in part because they were so intelligent and awkward and shut-in that it was impossible to guess what either one of them was going to say next. They could be having a conversation about where to get dinner and wind up discussing the merits of hydroelectric power, or be talking about Coke versus Pepsi and wind up spouting facts about the type of bacteria that live on the Antarctic ice shelf. It was different from anything he’d done with other friends, but that was part of why he loved it. 

Still chuckling, he took the sunglasses and slid them on, knowing that if he didn’t Matt would start rattling off statistics until he did. Not that he’d really mind. 

“Pidge will be happy,” Shiro said, turning back to the strawberry plant and continuing to pluck the fruit from its vivid green stem. “There’s a ton of strawberries up here. She’ll be stalking me for weeks.” Matt chuckled. Both were aware of Pidge’s undying love for strawberries and knew well the ring of truth to Shiro’s words. 

“So why are you up here?” Shiro asked. “I can handle these on my own, you know.” Matt chuckled. “Yeah, I know. But you left your phone downstairs and Pidge needed a flash drive that she forgot up here. You know how she is,” he said, wandering off toward the shed, no doubt to look for the drive his sister had left. Matt was chivalrous to the end, and for his sister? He’d jump off the roof of this building right now, no questions asked. The impression Shiro had gotten from their shut-out-the-world book-sharing the first day he’d met them had only strengthened in the time he’d known them. They had the closest sibling bond he’d ever seen. 

Something was bothering him, though. Something about what Matt had said felt… off. He couldn’t figure out quite what it was though, and it was killing him a little bit. 

After a few more minutes of picking/searching in companionable silence, Matt’s triumphant cry echoed over the rooftop. “Aha!” he shouted, holding something up to the fast-fading light of the sun and gazing at it with satisfaction. Shiro smiled. He looked so happy. 

“Ready to head back down?” Matt called over as he picked his way through planters and discarded gardening tools. “Yep,” Shiro called back, straightening and shifting the hem of his shirt to his other hand. His right arm was a prosthetic, but over the years, he’d gotten used to it. It’s not like he was judged for it, and his prosthetic was a good one, highly functional, so it wasn’t like he was really going to complain much anyway. 

They walked side-by-side back to the access door, carefully avoiding the worst of the debris on the ground. There was an amiable silence between them, but knowing Matt, it was sure to be broken soon. He and his sister both had a tendency to fill silences by suddenly saying the most random fact they could think of. Once it had been that octopi babies when born are the size of jelly beans. Another was that shark’s eyes rolled to the back of their head when they attacked. A particularly memorable instance was when Pidge had informed him that banging one’s head against a wall burned roughly 150 calories per hour. 

When they made it to the door, Shiro leaned down, careful of the strawberries, and twisted the handle. 

It didn’t budge. 

Furrowing his brow in confusion, he tried again. Nothing. Standing back, he told Matt, “It won’t open.” Matt’s face morphed into a frown. “Does it lock automatically when you close it?” he asked, and Shiro shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. This has never happened before.” 

Shiro’s confusion morphed into a frown as they continued to pull fruitlessly at the door. The only way this could have happened was if someone had locked it from the inside, and the only person who had keys was the janitor Mr. Foster. He never locked it because he knew people came up and had told Shiro that he never would. That meant the only way that it would be locked was if someone had stolen the keys. The only reason to do that would be to lock the door, and no one would have any reason to lock it except… 

“Oh my god, I am going to fucking murder your sister,” Shiro growled, yanking on the door again. He saw it dawn on Matt’s face as he glanced up again, and it felt sort of weird to be the one to figure it out first- probably for the first and last time in his life, but still. 

Finally, Shiro gave up with a bang of his fist against the door and a defeated sigh. “Alright, so we’re not getting back in there,” he said. “We’re gonna have to wait until that little shithead comes to let us back in.” 

“Fire escape?” Matt suggested. Shiro shook his head. “Ladder’s broken in four places, we’d probably kill ourselves.” Matt crossed his arms and tapped his fingers against his biceps, from zero to intense-thought mode in a millisecond. 

After less than a minute, he gave up, tossing his hands in the air. “Is there at least a place to sit?” he asked. “We may be sleeping out here, knowing her.” Shiro nodded and walked across to a pair of lounge chairs set up in an empty space on the roof. The sun had finally sunk completely over the horizon, and the sky was rapidly darkening, gray to periwinkle to indigo. It was a nice night- cool, clear, the moon already a faintly-glowing crescent in the sky- but Shiro was too agitated to take it in. 

He dropped down onto one of the lounge chairs with a heavy sigh, Matt following suit. Shiro glanced down at the mass of strawberries still cradled in the bottom of his shirt. Chuckling, he picked one up and bit into it. He smiled. Good. 

He offered one to Matt. “They’re really good,” he coaxed, and Matt accepted the fruit, eating the whole thing in one bite. “What do we do with the tops?” he asked. Shiro dropped his to the ground beside his chair and grinned up at Matt. “That.” Matt smiled back and dropped his own strawberry top on top of Shiro’s. 

The light faded away as the strawberry stash slowly dwindled. They talked some of the time, and sometimes they sat in comfortable silence, watching the city, but the entire time, Shiro continued to catch his eyes wandering back to Matt more and more frequently. 

He’d had an insane crush on him since they’d met. Something about Matt had captured him then and hadn’t let go, hadn’t even loosened its grip. If anything, it had tightened it. 

Shiro glanced up at the sky. Pure black now, the moon glowing silver. A few stars were visible, but not many. That was one of the things he did like about leaving the city- seeing stars. He’d been here a long time, and he loved it, but stars and space in general, were fascinating to him. He wished he could have both. 

A sharp burst of feedback, followed by blaring static, suddenly filled the air, causing both of them to jump. Their heads swiveled around, searching for the source of the noise. Shiro’s eyes settled on the speakers affixed to the wall behind the access door and lining the edges of the floor. 

The static cut out and soft music took its place, emanating quietly across the roof. 

“God dammit, Pidge,” Shiro muttered under his breath. That girl… 

He turned back to sit normally in his seat, and Matt did the same. “Your sister is really something,” Shiro grumbled, and Matt laughed. The sound made Shiro smile as Matt said, “Yeah, she is. She can be a pain, but she’s brilliant and, you know, I love her. She’s my sister.” 

Shiro laughed. “Yeah, she’s great… mostly.” Matt grinned out at the city. “I can agree with that.” Shiro laughed, but then looked over again. Matt was curled in on himself, shoulders hunched in and arms crossed over his chest. “Are you cold?” Shiro asked, concerned. Matt looked… beautiful, actually, cast in the soft silver glow of the moon with his messy hair ruffled slightly in the breeze. His heart skipped another beat. 

“Yeah,” Matt admitted, laughing a little. “Frickin’ freezing, actually. But I’m fine, I’m sure Pidge will let us in soon.” 

An impulse seized Shiro suddenly, and instantly he knew he couldn’t fight it. He took a deep breath, stood up, walked over to Matt’s chair, sat down, and pulled the other boy into his arms. 

He had to fight to keep the shock off his face. What had he even just _done_? 

Matt had stiffened up in Shiro’s embrace, and Shiro was doubting himself to an intense degree. He was about to stand up when Matt relaxed and said softly, “Thanks.” Slowly, his arms rose to wrap around Shiro’s waist, and when Shiro finally got up the courage to look down at Matt’s face, he saw wide, surprised eyes that made his breath catch. 

“Warmer now?” Shiro asked softly, and Matt nodded slowly. Neither of them had blinked. 

For a long moment, neither spoke, and Shiro found himself marveling at the situation- and reeling, a little. This was actually happening. 

Slowly, Shiro lifted one of his hands, running it through Matt’s messy, beautiful hair. It was soft and thick, and when Matt closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, Shiro smiled. He couldn’t believe how happy he was. 

Then: “Did you know that the word ‘cafuné’ is Brazilian Portuguese for running your fingers through someone’s- especially a lover’s- hair?” 

Shiro looked down to see Matt staring earnestly up at him. 

He couldn’t help it. He burst into laughter, saying, “You are the greatest thing ever to happen to the world.” 

He might have said more if there wasn’t an explosion just then over the Manhattan skyline. 

They looked up in tandem, startled and still completely entangled with each other where they were laying on the lounge chair. 

Fireworks were going off above the skyscrapers. “Do you think this was Pidge too?” Shiro asked incredulously, and Matt laughed. “Probably not. I think there’s a festival of some sort going on somewhere.” 

They both stared up at the fireworks, enthralled. They were beautiful, a rain of fire and color erupting across the sky. 

Shiro turned his head to look at Matt. He was gazing up at the fireworks, enraptured, lips parted, eyes unblinking, his face lit up in the glow of the fireworks, colors shifting and changing, and Shiro felt himself falling just a little bit more in love. 

He reached up, placing his hand on Matt’s cheek. Matt turned to look at him, and slowly, Shiro leaned in. 

When their lips met, it felt like the fireworks still bursting above them had moved into his chest. 

***

Down below in Shiro’s apartment, a laptop was hooked up to the building’s security cameras, a screen displaying the footage from the rooftop. 

Pidge cackled evilly by the light of the screen and the fireworks still exploding outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't like the cheesiness... sorry not sorry


	16. This Is How I Disappear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So basically... Keith finally leaves his room.

_And without you  
Is how I disappear_

 

The sun rose again on Keith still staring out his window. 

The sky was painted in rosy shades of pink and orange, fading into gray as the sun peered over the edge of the horizon. Keith wasn’t sure when the last time he slept was, but he watched now as the city woke up all around him. It was vibrant and alive, such stark contrast to the dead grays and silence he had grown up with. 

Breakfast prep had started half an hour ago. Keith glanced at the door before looking back out over the city. 

At six, he stood up, leaving the white windowsill empty and forlorn in the pale light of the dawn. He was careful of the letter in the pocket of the jacket he still had not taken off. 

The dining hall was already half full, even though he walked in at 6:03. The people standing behind the counter serving food looked cheery and eager, despite the time and the fact that they’d already been here for at least an hour. 

He took a plate and surveyed the spread. It looked and smelled amazing. He was suddenly ravenous and thought back to the last time he had eaten- he’d done little more than poke at his food at the only dinner he’d yet attended here, almost a week ago. He was half amazed that he was even conscious now. 

He went down the line taking everything that looked good, piling his plate high with food. His mouth was watering, and it was taking all his self-control not to dig in with his hands while he was still in line. 

He stopped at the waffle station, holding out his plate and looking up to see the face of the person serving the waffles. 

It was a tall boy in a yellow t-shirt and an apron, the one from the night at dinner, looking at Keith with a slightly dumbfounded expression, lips parted. 

“Um, hi,” he said, dropping two waffles onto Keith’s plate. 

Keith turned and continued down the line, flinching inwardly. He probably should have said something, or at least nodded. This boy was a friend of Lance’s, who would probably be at dinner if not breakfast. For some reason, he found himself caring what Lance would think of this- Keith walking away from his friend without so much as a nod in greeting. 

He pulled the jacket tighter around himself. If he was going to have to give it back, he wanted to get as much use as possible out of it first. 

***  
“LANCE LANCE LANCE!” Lance heard someone shouting behind him, accompanied by the sound of pounding feet. 

Lance, Shiro, and Pidge turned around. Hunk was barreling toward them, face red, panting, but moving as fast as his legs could carry him. 

“Oh my god Lance it was at breakfast and I was serving the waffles because Jem always serves the bacon and the new girl- her name is Kaylie by the way she’s cool- they didn’t want her to serve the waffles because last week she smashed the pancakes and Archer called orange juice and coffee so he was out and everyone was doing something so I was stuck with the waffles so-” 

The three of them looked at each other, then shouted, “HUNK!” The other boy’s hysterics halted and Lance said, “What’s going on, buddy?” bouncing over to sling an arm around his friend’s shoulders. 

“The guy is at breakfast!” Hunk burst out excitedly. Lance’s eyes widened, and then he turned on his heel and rocketed away toward the dining hall, leaving the other three to stare after him. 

***  
Keith sat at an empty table, shoved as far back into a corner as he could find. There weren’t many people in this vicinity, though the room was growing steadily more crowded as people trickled in from upstairs and outside. 

He turned his gaze to his plate, burrowing into the jacket and shoveling food into his mouth. It disappeared in a matter of minutes, even though his plate had been practically overflowing. He didn’t think he’d ever eaten so fast in his life. Standing, he went back for more. 

The waffle boy was gone. 

Keith’s brow furrowed as he served himself some waffles. The boy who had been serving could have gone to the bathroom, or had to leave for something else, or he could have been on break or something. Still, he wondered… 

He sat down again, just in time for the door to slam open loudly enough to halt all conversations within fifteen feet of the entrance. 

Keith looked up. Lance was standing in the door, looking around the dining hall with far too much visible restless energy than should be allowed at six in the morning. After a few moments, his friends ran up behind him, stopping. One- the boy in the yellow shirt who had been serving waffles- Hunk?- started talking and gesturing wildly, but the other two were looking out at the dining hall like Lance. He saw Pidge’s eyes turn in his general direction and quickly looked back down at his plate before she saw him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with- 

“FOUND HIM!” someone shouted, and Keith looked up quickly. It wasn’t them, though- it was a boy who was darting from the food line to a table in the middle of the room, two other boys about his age in tow. Keith let out a small breath of relief, just as four more bodies filled the benches around him. 

He looked up and saw Lance, Pidge, Shiro and Hunk settling in at his table. Lance, Hunk and Shiro smiled while Pidge inspected him like a specimen from a lab. He pulled the jacket tighter around him and regretted it instantly- Shiro and Pidge had definitely noticed. 

“You came to a meal!” Lance said happily, and Keith almost smiled, shoveling another bit of waffles into his mouth. “I told you Hunk was a good cook, didn’t I?” he said, and Keith almost nodded before catching himself. 

Hunk, on the other hand, beamed, even though he was still casting nervous glances at Keith every few seconds. “Thanks buddy,” he said, and Lance grinned wider. 

Pidge adjusted her glasses, scrutinizing. He saw her eyes scan the messy hair, the dark circles that must have been ringing his eyes, the hollowed-out cheeks, the olive hoodie that was so very clearly not his wrapped around his shoulders. “You’re not mute,” she decides, and Keith looked at her with polite disinterest. She sounded very sure for someone who hadn’t been around him for more than five minutes at a time. He wondered how, but at the same time… there was a gleam of intelligence in her eyes, something that made him sure that she knew more already than he should ever hope to. 

Fortunately, he also knew that even for someone like that, he was hard to read. She could glean enough- that he could talk but wouldn’t, _why_ he wouldn’t, maybe even some analysis of his childhood and his last six years, but she wouldn’t know _him_ until he wanted her to. 

That was for the best anyway. 

Shiro looked over at Pidge with significantly more interest than Keith- that was to say, any at all. “Why do you think that?” he asks, eyes darting sideways for half a second to look at Keith. 

Pidge shrugs, plucking a strawberry from Keith’s plate and nibbling at the edge meditatively. “If he was just mute and that was why he wasn’t communicating, he’d have found a way around it by now- writing, signing, something. That rules out that possibility, which does leave the possibility of a mute who just doesn’t _want_ to communicate, but he couldn’t be that either because when he sighed the other day I heard a hum beneath the breath, which means his vocal chords work, which means he can’t be mute. Therefore he just really doesn’t want to talk to us.” 

Shiro, Lance and Hunk looked impressed. Keith continued to pluck small grapes from the bunch, eating them one at a time. 

Pidge looked to Keith, prompting everyone else to turn back to him as well. He fought down the urge to shrink further into Lance’s jacket as the full force of their gazes fell on him. Why did they have to _look_ at him like that?

“Pidge is the smart one,” Hunk explained, as Lance eyed Keith with a significant look. Keith looked at him sideways before turning his attention to Hunk, who was picking at the cinnamon roll on the edge of Keith’s plate and saying, “She’s fifteen but she’s a senior because she skipped two grades, _and_ she’s in all advanced classes, _and_ she hacks stuff in her free time, _and_ she and her brother read textbooks for _fun_. Her whole family is crazy smart, like nerds on steroids, but like, scary nerds who will kill you with a butter knife.” 

Lance cracked up and Shiro laughed a little, even Pidge smiling slightly as she responded, but Keith was just watching Hunk. He had a sort of glow to his face, and his eyes and voice betrayed a sweet nature and a type of innocence that Keith wasn’t used to seeing in the people around him. He talked a lot and seemed kind of paranoid and maybe a little hyper, but there was something about him that made Keith want to trust him instantly. 

It was unsettling, but in a good way. 

“Yeah, that’s impressive,” Shiro was saying as Keith tuned back into the conversation. Pidge’s eyes got intense and she leaned in, fingers tapping double-time as she said, “Coffee-impressive?” 

“No,” the other three said at once, making Lance smile as Pidge slumped, face dropping into a pout. “I’m just gonna find it you know,” she said sullenly, toying with a fork as her bouncing legs shook the whole table. 

Shiro laughed heartily, wrapping an arm around Pidge’s neck and ruffling her short hair. “I know,” he said, still grinning. Keith looked on, surprised. He’d taken Shiro for someone a bit more reserved, but maybe that was just around people he didn’t know. He probably knew Pidge pretty well, at least if this was any indication. 

He looked over at Lance, who was smiling at the still-giggling pair fondly, and his hand went subconsciously to the pocket that held the letter safely inside the jacket. 

If it weren’t for him, Keith would still be sitting in that windowsill, listening from four stories up as the city came to life and these four lived their lives without him. 

He wasn’t sure it was possible ever to be more glad for a letter. 

He cast a surreptitious glance at the other boy. He was beautiful, Keith couldn’t help but notice again. 

He slid his hand into the pocket holding the letter. 

Beautiful, and a wonderful person. Keith looked over again, to see Lance smiling at him. Hunk was chatting merrily with Shiro and Pidge, who were both laughing, Pidge’s fingers tapping away at the tabletop. She was stealing Keith’s strawberries and sips of Shiro’s coffee, and Shiro was slapping her hands away from both, threatening to tell her brother. Hunk was laughing as he watched them. 

He looked away from Lance, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking… 

He didn’t want to leave. 

Lance made him real. 

He wasn’t sure how not to let go, but he was damn well going to figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry I haven't posted in a few weeks. Some stuff happened and I couldn't write for a while, but I'm back now and plan to get back on my ever 1-2 days schedule. SO sorry for the delay, hope you enjoyed the chapter though, comment below if you enjoyed/have any suggestions for the next bonus chapter!


	17. Heaven Help Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of vague insight into Keith's past, a dinner that starts okay that doesn't end well... yeah not much happens but hopefully you'll like it anyway, I'll try to make the next chapter a little more eventful

_And would you pray for me  
Or make a saint of me_

 

He didn’t go to dinner that night. He wasn’t sure if he was expected to after having attended breakfast, but he thought Lance might be looking for him anyway. 

That thought alone was almost enough to make him go. 

Almost. 

Instead, though, he curled further into his windowsill, pressed against the cold glass. There was an unforgiving sort of comfort in it, in returning to this tiny corner of the world he had secluded himself- _trapped_ himself- inside. He wasn’t good enough to be living in the real world. He wasn’t worth anything. It was safer here, where he was out of the way and out of sight and out of mind. It was better that he stayed here, where he couldn’t hurt anybody and nobody could hurt him. 

His thoughts wandered, as they’d been doing so often over the last week, to the dank concrete corner he knew so well. Forty-seven cracks spider-webbing through dark-stained concrete walls and floor, the smell of dampness and mold, the spiderwebs in the fall, the water seeping through the cracks in the spring, the stifling, thick heat of summer permeating the walls themselves. The heaps of junk and trash and long-forgotten things piled around him like the ghosts of what people could have been or used to be or rejected from the start, like monsters lurking and waiting to pounce. The worn-down padding of a cheap dog bed, stained and filthy and cloudy with dust and stinking of mildew. 

The only place he belonged. 

He thought of the unlocked front door, and the gun hidden beneath a stack of useless, empty papers on a desk. 

The bedrooms that looked like they hadn’t been touched in years, encapsulating lives whose presence had been gone for a long, long time in faded band posters and dusty comforters and a vanity with a broken mirror. 

The medicine cabinet inside a rarely-used bathroom standing empty, while the cabinets across from it stored dozens upon dozens of bottles of pills hidden years before Keith had arrived. 

The smell of cigars permanently ingrained into jackets and slacks, a tip glowing bright orange as smoke curled through the air and harsh breathing kept soul-shattering silence at bay. 

The glint of gunmetal through the haze of sickly-sweet smoke. 

The cracking of a hand against his face. 

The taste of blood on his tongue. 

Collapsing into a dark corner with a wounded arm cradled close to his chest, woken an hour later by tearing wood and rough screaming and brass knuckles against his skin and his clothes torn to oblivion. 

Large, callused hands shoving him into a darkened garage, rusted metal scraping at his skin as he fumbled for the corner. 

Closing his eyes and finally, finally, rest, if only for a few hours, to get away from his dry, bleeding hands and bruised skin and the cuts across his face and his aching body. 

Yes, maybe he really did belong in that corner. 

No one came to get him for dinner, which was both a relief and a disappointment. Though he’d wanted to see Lance- and even Shiro and Pidge and Hunk, to his surprise- he wasn’t sure he could or should. 

If there had ever been anyone in his entire life that he didn’t want to drag down with him, it was already Lance. 

Keith shook his head at himself, gazing down at the street. He had only known Lance a few days; the urge to protect him, to keep him safe and out of Keith’s own helpless path of destruction baffled him, but he didn’t know how to- didn’t actually want to- get rid of it, so he just left it alone. 

One hundred eight cars within his line of sight. People walked down the street alone or in groups. Noise and lights of different kinds emanated from each building, none quite the same. The building across from him was lit up like a Christmas tree, more lights on in the windows than he’d ever seen before. 

Looking back into the room, he saw the water bottle Lance had brought lying on the floor. It was empty, a few drops clinging to the insides like rain on windows. 

He unfolded his legs and set them carefully to the floor, one at a time. The hardwood was cool against his bare feet but not too cold. 

He picked himself up from the windowsill and walked to the middle of the room. Bending down, he reached for the bottle and picked it up, eyes tracking the drops as they trailed down the sides and gathered at the bottom. They glistened like tears in the light of the city streaming in through the windows. 

Turning the knob carefully and pulling the door open slowly so he wouldn’t make a sound, he padded out into the abandoned hallway. The water fountain was clean and glinted a dull silver beneath the warm lights. 

The sound of the water filling the bottle overlapped with the sound of the meal going on below until it was just senseless cacophony filling Keith’s ears, lulling him into a trance. He didn’t notice the water flowing out of the bottle and over his fingers for at least a few seconds, maybe longer. He wasn’t really sure. 

Screwing the cap back on, he hurried back into his room and shut the door behind him, setting the bottle on the dresser and sighing. 

He didn’t lock the door. 

Huddling into the window and pulling Lance’s jacket- which he still couldn’t make himself take off, for some reason- tighter around his torso, Keith sighed and resigned himself to watching the world go by outside in silence. 

***

Keith didn’t sleep that night either, and he didn’t go to breakfast the next morning. He knew he probably should- food wasn’t really optional in a lot of cases- but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the window. 

Couldn’t bring himself to put all those people that he was actually starting to- to his own chagrin- become fond of at risk of reciprocating his affection. 

The people around him didn’t seem to have very good lives, and he didn’t want that for any of them. 

So he stayed by his window, passing time by counting cars and people and birds and trees and cracks in the pavement far below. Nine hundred forty-one, six hundred eighty-two, ninety-three, sixteen, one hundred four. Hours and faces and colors seemed to blur together after a while, and he just pulled Lance’s jacket closer and shut his eyes tightly and waited for the world to come back into focus before starting again. One, two, three, four, red, blue, yellow, green, ninety minutes, a hundred twenty, a hundred fifty, a hundred eighty. 

When the bell sounded throughout the building to signal dinner, footsteps filled the hallways and filed down the stairs as another set filled what was probably a conference room above him. He heard noise and laughter and kitchenware from downstairs, and a single voice speaking clearly from above him. 

He looked up, trying to imagine the people and the lives standing over him right now, what reason they all had for living, why they were all where they were, what had led them to be here, today, who they had and who they’d lost and who they were. 

If he closed his eyes, he thought he could see it. 

A knock at the door startled him. He hadn’t been thinking about Lance- not in the last few minutes anyway- but the sound instantly sent his thoughts spinning in that direction. 

He was about to get up to answer the door when it cracked open, revealing Lance wearing a blue t-shirt and a smile that threatened to break down barriers Keith had had up for years. 

“Come to dinner,” was all Lance said. 

Casting one last, long look out the window, Keith stood up, and he did. 

***

Lance had looked a little surprised when Keith came to dinner- and came easily at that- but then he had smiled again and proceeded to talk all the way down the stairs and into the dining hall and through the food line and to an empty table in the back that Keith had beelined toward. When the others had found them a few minutes later, they had smiled at Lance and Keith through the surprise in their eyes and sat down as naturally as if this was a routine they had been in for years, conversing with Lance and snatching food from Keith’s plate and laughing and even, occasionally, smiling at him like he was one of them to. 

He both desperately wished he was and vehemently rejected the idea, all at once. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so torn in his life. He had mental whiplash from the war raging inside his own head. 

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you, Pidge found the coffee,” Hunk was saying. He shot the younger girl a sulky look, but she just beamed at him, clearly pleased with herself. Her fingers were tapping at about three times their normal pace, either from satisfaction or caffeine or some combination of both. Probably both. 

Lance laughed while Shiro rolled his eyes, the former taking another bite of dinner as the latter ruffled Pidge’s hair. “How bad was it?” Lance asked, and Hunk sighed heavily. 

“She got through half the bag before I caught her,” he told them glumly, voice heavy and dull. “She won’t need to sleep for three days.” 

Lance choked on his food. “Half the bag?” he coughed as Hunk pounded him on the back a few times. Pidge nodded, grinning proudly, while Shiro dropped his face into his hands with a groan. “Your brother is gonna kill me,” he moaned into his palms, and Pidge rolled her eyes. 

“Matt would never kill you,” she said, plucking another strawberry from her plate- how did she _always_ have strawberries, he was _positive_ they hadn’t been serving them- “He loves you way too much. It would be sickening if you two weren’t the most adorable couple I’d ever seen. Now, sedate me? _That_ he would do. But he would never kill you.” 

Shiro looked up at her with his chin propped on his hands, humming thoughtfully. “Now there’s an idea,” he said ruminatively, and she shouted and indignant, “HEY!” and threw a strawberry at him, which he deftly caught and popped into his mouth with a grin. “Thanks,” he said as he swallowed, and she rolled her eyes, but she was laughing. 

Lance was laughing, Hunk grinning, at the entire exchange. “Great dinner, Hunk,” Lance said, and Hunk beamed. “Thanks buddy,” he said, face practically glowing with happiness. The two had such an easy friendship, something close and sincere. That much Keith could decipher, even if he had only known them a few days. He wondered if he’d ever have that with anybody. 

It would probably better, no matter how much he wanted it, if he didn’t. 

“You know, I was thinking-” Keith heard Lance saying, and looked up in time to see Lance reaching toward him, the other boy’s hand outstretched. 

Keith jumped away so quickly and so far that he nearly knocked over his plate, jostling the entire table in the process. 

All he could see was the master’s hand coming down at him, again and again. 

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and looked around to see all four of them- and many of the people from the surrounding tables- staring at him. 

Lance’s hand was still outstretched, held a few inches from where Keith had been sitting before. His lips were slightly parted in shock, eyes wide as he stared back at Keith unblinkingly. 

Keith just looked back at him, not moving and not breathing. 

Slowly, Lance dropped his hand. The people at tables around them had returned to what they were doing, but Shiro, Pidge and Hunk were all still staring, as, of course, was Lance. 

“It’s okay,” Lance said quietly after a moment. The dining hall around them was loud, but it seemed, in that moment, that their table was in a quiet space all its own, far removed from the raucousness and the rush of the crowds filling the room. “I get it.” 

And Keith could see, in the sadness and the empathy and the unidentifiable something in the other boy’s eyes that made Keith’s chest lurch, that he did. 

He did. 

Keith stood up and grabbed his plate, scraping the rest of his food into a trash can and leaving the plate on the table as he left the room without a backwards glance. 

 

The people left at the table behind him still stared in shock, and their bubble of quiet did not break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos I've been receiving! I really appreciate all the support and thank you for reading!


	18. Desert Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Lance finds Keith and it becomes a talk-all-night kind of thing. Not super eventful but hopefully you'll forgive me because it's seriously pretty much pure Klance

_We hold in our hearts the sword and the faith_  
…  
 _And did you come to stare or wash away the blood?_

 

There were only eight-nine cars outside now, and two people. 

A boy was leaning against the side of the building across the street, a cigarette glowing faintly in one hand. Plumes of smoke curled into the dark night as he stood alone, head tipped down to hide his face beneath the rim of a hat. 

He had come from the dinner, just like Keith. 

The only difference was that Keith saw him, but he did not see Keith. 

The other person was a woman, young and delicately pretty, walking up the street carefully in high heels, a coat much thicker and much newer-looking than the boy’s wrapped around her. 

She vanished, and then it was just the boy again, with a ragged hat and a half-finished cigarette. 

Keith had left the lights off in his room and opened the other window, letting in the cold night air and the sounds of the city. He wanted to wrap himself up in it, in the crowds and the noise and the lives and the vibrancy and the vitality of just being alive somewhere like this, where there was energy and sound at all hours. No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn’t feel it, not through the sheets of glass between him and the rest of the night. 

It was the first time his window had felt more like a cage than a sanctuary. 

It was unsettling to him, that his perspectives were beginning to shift. He’d heard that change was a good thing, but he also knew that constancy could be the key to everything, even to just managing to make it through, to stay alive, for another day. 

He knew better than anyone exactly how beneficial constancy could be. 

Constancy made things predictable, and it was much easier to protect himself against what he could know and predict than what he couldn’t. 

The devil you know, that was the phrase. 

It wasn’t that he really liked that stability. He had always found the predictability he did his best to surround himself with to be… bland. Stale and stagnant and boring. 

And yet, when they had hit him, suddenly it wasn’t so boring anymore. 

Boredom, he had always thought, was a much smaller price than some paid for protecting themselves. 

The boy put out his cigarette and went back inside. 

Keith let a breath escape slowly from his lips, watching as the window before his face fogged over. It was getting colder outside, that much he knew. It was September now, when everything started to change, just for a little while, to vibrancy and color and sharp air before losing its luster and turning into various shades of gray and black and pure, blank white. 

A quick rapping sound echoed through the room, and it took him a few moments to realize that someone was knocking on the door. 

He hadn’t locked it, but he didn’t stand to open it either. 

There was a moment of quiet, and then the door opened, first just a little, and then more and more until Keith could see Lance standing just inside the door. 

He stared blankly at Lance, surprised at what he was seeing. After his outburst at dinner… nobody would want to deal with him. Why would Lance come to him? Didn’t he hate Keith now? That was all Keith had expected of them now anyway. 

“Hey,” Lance said quietly as the door fell quietly shut behind him. Keith didn’t respond, but he could tell Lance hadn’t been expecting him to. He offered Keith a small smile, and Keith continued to stare. What…? 

This was… bad. 

He felt like he was being torn apart on the inside. One side of him was jumping for joy, ecstatic that Lance still wanted to be around him, still accepted him, had actually even come to find him. The other was screaming that he couldn’t be attached to Lance, that Lance couldn’t be attached to him, because Keith would only hurt Lance- like he had tonight, flinching violently away and walking out without so much as a second glance. Screaming that he would do worse if they had any sort of bond. 

He tried to ignore them both, but they were fighting and shoving for dominance in Keith’s head, and he felt senseless and confused and completely conflicted. 

Lance sat down on the floor, leaning back against the dresser and draping his arms over his bent knees. 

“I’m really sorry,” Lance said suddenly, thankfully snapping Keith out of his head. “About what happened at dinner. I should have thought about- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He was shaking his head and he looked actually distraught over the notion that he’d upset Keith. 

Something warm and fuzzy and completely unfamiliar filled Keith’s chest. 

Despite his better judgement, he liked it. 

Keith didn’t speak- he still couldn’t do that, because doing that would mean opening up to them, and he refused to do that to them, he would not do that to them, _he would not do that to them_ \- but he watched, and he met Lance’s gaze, and he held his eyes, and he did his very fucking best to communicate through their stare that it was okay. That Lance had nothing to be sorry for. It was okay. 

It was okay, okay, okay. 

Keith counted back. 

Eight days since he had met Lance. 

Eight days that he could be okay. 

He tried to imagine the next eight days. 

Hopefully those would be okay too. 

Lance finally dropped Keith’s gaze, but Keith didn’t look away as the other boy sighed and ran a hand up the back of his neck, over his hair. 

“I know you still aren’t ready to talk to me, and that’s okay,” he said, his voice a little calmer than normal, dropping the theatrics and the noise for a few minutes. It was different, but Keith liked it. 

“I don’t want you to talk to me until you’re ready. Actually, you don’t have to talk to me at all, not if you don’t want to. I hope that someday, hopefully someday soon, you’ll find somebody who you can trust enough to open up to. Not because I want you to tell me about your life or anything like that, just because I… well, I want you to be okay and I think that sometimes talking about stuff can help. Not-” he cuts himself off and releases another long sigh. “I mean, not that you have to, or anything. I mean, you’re not… some people just need time, to work through things in their own heads, so they don’t talk and then they don’t really need to talk, I just… I mean, like…” 

He looked up then, and when his blue eyes met Keith’s, there was an intensity in them that Keith couldn’t have looked away from if he tried- not that he wanted to. 

“You’re not broken, you know?” Lance said fiercely. “Like, you went through some bad shit, and I get that. But you’re just, I don’t know, you’re a person and you’re worth something, and maybe those people who pushed you around and held you down and forced you to be something for them that you never should have had to be, but you don’t have to be that, and you’re _not_ that, you know? I can tell, just from looking at you. You’re _worth_ something, you know? You mean something. You aren’t broken, you aren’t worthless, you aren’t _damaged_. You could be, should be, are, so much more than they made you, and I hope that you’ll be able to believe me on that, and soon, because I _see_ you, okay? I see you, I _see_ you, and I look in your eyes and I just know that you’re something… something that’s just incredible, something amazing and priceless and worth more than most of us who never went through the shit that you’ve probably been dealing with for way too long. So I just want you to know that, okay? No matter what you think, no matter what it is you feel behind that poker face, no matter how willing or unwilling you are to open up or how bad it was or how much there is that you’ll never tell me or anybody, you are _worth something_. Okay?” 

He looked up to meet Keith’s eyes again. This time their gazes locked and held, luminous blue irises filled with fire and intensity staring back at him, and Keith found that he couldn’t breathe. 

“I can see it in your eyes,” Lance said, so much more quietly, so soft but seeming to fill the whole room, fill up Keith’s head to drive the screaming voices in his mind away. “Maybe some people would be broken after what you went through, but not you. 

“Never you.” 

Lance looked away, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded lighter. 

“So, now that I’ve said what I really needed to say… Did I ever tell you that I swim?” he said. 

Keith stared blankly, unsure what was happening. Where was Lance going with… any of this? 

Lance launched into a story then, about a childhood with a massive family and summers in Cuba at a gorgeous beach, and a pizza shack with garlic knots that were “the gods of the food world, no exaggeration,” and swimming beneath the waves with sisters and cousins and swimming farther and farther from the shore just to see more and remain submerged in the silky water. He told Keith about a cramped city apartment and a swimming pool that was never occupied but always clean, and a high school swim team that changed his life, and a state championship and then nationals, and an older sister who came to every meet, no matter how busy or how far away she was, and who always gave him flowers and an apple when the meet was over. 

He told Keith about a warm, loving mother who gave the world’s best hugs and who taught him to cook, about bonding with sisters and brothers alike over skin care regimen, about a room stocked with equal parts sci-fi novels and textbooks, about chaotic Christmases and crowded Thanksgivings and the most supportive family he’d ever known, about childhood best friendships and heartbreaks, about comforting his siblings when their hearts were broken over friendships or boyfriends or girlfriends or pets or anything else. 

He told him about his oldest brother and then his older sister going away to college, crying and clinging to them at the doorsteps and making them promise to call, about dances and parties way-too-big group hugs when his older siblings came home for the holidays and the summers, about his older sister telling him about pre-med courses and his older brother teaching him to act, about seeing his little sisters and brothers in school plays. 

About past friendships and past heartbreaks and what he loved and what he hated. About Hunk, who had been his best friend since childhood. About watching Hunk cook and the two of them facing the world together, about their triumphs and their misadventures and how Hunk had been at every damn swim meet, cheering loudly right alongside Lance’s big sister. 

About his and Hunk’s first volunteer jobs. About Shiro finding them at a soup kitchen where Hunk was pouring his heart into it and smiling kindly and telling them about Second Chance. 

About befriending Pidge and Shiro, about Shiro and Matt teaching him just as much about love as his parents, about the five of them forming a friendship that felt just as strong as his ever-strengthening family, about the way Second Chance and the three of them changed his life, about how he’d die for them. 

About what it meant to him to have found them. 

About how he would never give them up, for anything. 

All through the night, and then as dawn broke outside, Lance talked, until his voice was hoarse and his words came out raw, until Keith could see the story of the other boy’s life before his eyes, could see a person even more wonderful than he’d thought- a boy who sang his younger siblings to sleep and played guitar with his big brother and cried with his big sister and wrote letters and cried over cheesy rom-coms and had the biggest, most loving family the world had ever seen and cared more about his friends than his heart could even contain, who would do anything for the people he loved and would help a sour, silent, reclusive boy he’d never met to see light in a world that had, for so many countless hours and days and weeks and years seemed dark and irretrievable, who would write a letter and give up his favorite jacket and spend all night talking so that the boy whose name he didn’t even know wouldn’t feel so alone, would know he had somebody, even just one person, in the world, would remember that he wasn’t broken. 

When Lance finally stopped talking, Keith had to look away to hide the tears in his eyes as he struggled to breathe around the lump in his throat. 

Far below, the sounds of breakfast about to be served were echoing up and out across the street. 

Keith blinked away salty tears and looked back to Lance, who was watching Keith with softness in his expression and tenderness in his eyes. 

Keith took a shuddering breath. 

He hadn’t counted all night. 

“Come on,” Lance said softly, Lance, who was on his feet, Lance, who was giving Keith an indefinable look that melted the pain he knew now that he was carrying around. “Let’s go to breakfast.” 

When he reached out a hand to help Keith up, he took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chance for any bonus chapter suggestions, because I'm writing it today! Thank you for reading and commenting/kudo-ing if you did those things, I really appreciate it!


	19. House of Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an event! 
> 
> Sorry if it sucks though, I wrote this (and chapter 18 actually) on a plane late at night so please don't hate me if it's awful

_Tell me I’m an angel  
Take this to my grave   
(S-I-N I S-I-N)_

 

Keith and Lance went through the food line together again, but this time, they went in companionable silence. Lance didn’t talk constantly as he had yesterday; today, he seemed content to keep quiet. 

It was enough for Keith just to have Lance by his side. 

Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge were already waiting at the table in the back, their plates in front of them. 

They looked up, all smiling as they approached. “We didn’t know if he’d be coming, but we figured we’d be prepared and sit here, just in case,” Pidge said, nodding her chin toward Keith. 

Keith caught himself just before he raised his eyebrows. Had they really thought about that, considered what he wanted and what he did and done something for him even when they weren’t sure he’d be coming at all? 

Something inside Keith cracked dangerously as he and Lance took their seats. 

This morning, Pidge’s plate was nothing but strawberries, even though he was still fairly certain there hadn’t been strawberries served this morning. There was a whole pile of them waiting, not seeming to shrink much even as Pidge ate them tirelessly. 

Hunk had nothing but a perfect-looking cinnamon roll on his plate, sitting precisely in the center of the dish as Hunk gazed at it with deep satisfaction. “Look at this,” he was saying, occasionally snapping pictures with his phone. He looked so happy, Keith almost had to smile. 

Shiro was watching the rest of his friends with a mix of bemusement, amusement and fondness as Lance tore into his utterly random selection, Hunk continued to take- and probably post- pictures of his cinnamon roll (Lance had informed him that Hunk was eternally taking and posting pictures of food, anytime, anywhere, anything), and Pidge popped strawberries into her mouth with gusto, a pile of leaves growing beside her plate though the strawberry pile still didn’t seem to be diminished. 

Shiro had eggs and a buttered english muffin on his plate, but he wasn’t eating. He was too busy watching everyone else with his head tilted. 

“What’s on your mind, Shiro?” Lance asked around a mouthful of hashbrowns. 

Shiro just shook his head. “You know those moments where you just stop and look around and realize that even though a moment isn’t necessarily perfect it’s, you know… perfect?” 

Lance and Hunk nod sagely while Pidge looks like a bobblehead- she probably found the coffee again, or maybe stole Shiro’s, if Keith had to guess. 

Lance speared a grape with his fork as he said, “Yeah, I get what you mean. I just…” he looked around the group slowly and smiled, laughed a little. “Yeah, I get it.” 

Shiro grinned and returned to his eggs. 

The conversation turned to some project Pidge and Matt were working on, then, somehow, to Shiro’s high school baseball team (which he had not actually been on) and then Pidge, Lance and Hunk’s college applications. 

“Hey, Lance, can we come over this weekend so you can make us Cuban breakfast? Please?” Hunk pleaded, eyes going huge and puppy-dog-esque. Pidge and Shiro instantly perked up, leaning in and pleading hopefully alongside Hunk. Lance was laughing, promising them enough food to feed a small army, and suddenly, Keith was seeing Lance, ten years old and all long, gangly limbs and huge blue eyes and tanned skin and freckles, cooking next to his mother, and then Lance now, seventeen and surrounded by the best friends he’d ever had, laughing at the stove as Hunk took pictures and Pidge tossed grapes into Shiro’s mouth, sneaking strawberries from a carton on the counter. 

Cracks kept spreading, spider-webbing out from the single fissure that had erupted earlier at the group’s table choice, racing through something deep inside. 

Keith had spent most of his life keeping people at a distance. He didn’t want to hurt them, didn’t want to be hurt by anyone. He was never willing to take the risk, because even the people he didn’t like didn’t deserve to be hurt, and that was all he really did, wasn’t it? Hurt people. He didn’t care if he suffered, but he would never want to subject anyone, much less anyone he cared about, to the kind of pain that he always worried would come to them if they were around him. He was worthless, he was destructive, he would bring nothing but pain. 

But these people- they embraced the pain that may come with their friendships. They knew they could be hurt. They were vulnerable to each other, all the time, but they had something so close, so strong and so loving, something like Keith had never experienced before. 

Something he suddenly wanted more than he could take. 

Lance had told him he wasn’t damaged. He wasn’t broken, he wasn’t worthless. 

These people had opened their hearts to him even though they didn’t know him. They had been kind to him, opened up around him, been _vulnerable_ around him. 

He already cared so much about them. Finally he was realizing that it was too late not to form a bond with them. It was already too late, because _he already cared_. 

Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe he would hurt them. Maybe, maybe, maybe, but _maybe not_. 

This time, it could go another way. He would make it go another way. He wouldn’t hurt them. He would protect them, he would care for them, he would make this something better, something good. The good thing he had been hoping for for so long he couldn’t even remember the start anymore. 

“Keith,” he said. 

They had all been talking over each other, but suddenly they all stopped at once, turning slowly to look at him. 

He cleared his throat. His voice had been rough and raw from disuse. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to anybody. 

“My name is Keith,” he said, his voice slightly less scratchy. 

Four faces stared back at him, expressions blankly shocked. 

Slowly, Lance’s face melted into a grin, wider and brighter than Keith had ever seen form him. 

“Hey, Keith,” Lance said, and all Keith could think was that those were the perfect words, and Lance had found them. 

Slowly, Keith smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another super short chapter but hopefully you enjoyed it! Comment below, bonus chapter for 3000 hits should be up today or tomorrow, thank you guys for all the support!


	20. The Only Exception (BONUS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus for 3000 hits
> 
> Minor Shatt, minor Pidge, and then How Shiro Met Lance and Hunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the Shiro-centric bonus chapters, it's just kind of what's coming to me, but anyway who doesn't love Shiro right?

_And up until now_  
I had sworn to myself that I’m content  
With loneliness 

 

Shiro pushed out of his crowded lecture hall and into the cool air ahead of the rest of his class, sucking in a deep breath. It had been stifling in there, the professor’s voice too harsh and the air too hot, too thick. 

Leaves had started to fall off the trees, turning the ground to a patchwork of concrete gray and grass green and gold and red and brown. It was Shiro’s favorite time of year. It always had been, but especially since this year- this year, when instead of curling up alone he huddled close with Matt on the couch, where instead of buying coffee and attempting to bake for himself he was constantly batting Pidge’s hands away from misshapen cookies and too-large lattes. 

He smiled to himself as he speed-walked away from the NYU building, already thinking about seeing them after he got home. 

His class had gotten out at three, so Shiro managed to avoid the lunch rush and the after-work rush on the way back to his apartment. Matt and Pidge both had school today too, but Matt was over at Columbia and it would take him a lot longer than Shiro to get back to his place. 

The Holts, Shiro had been told, had encouraged Matt to go to Oxford. They didn’t live in the city- Matt had his own apartment and Pidge lived with him- so Shiro had never met them. He knew, though, that they were supportive, that when Pidge had asked to come with Matt they hadn’t batted an eye, that Matt had come out to them at thirteen they had accepted it completely. He knew that they were smart, like their kids; he knew that they were the kind of loving family he had always looked up to. 

He also knew, though, that they had tried to talk Matt out of attending Columbia. 

Matt had gotten into every single college he had applied to- every Ivy League, Oxford, UCL, the world’s best universities had all eagerly accepted. Matt’s test scores were unheard of, and his extracurriculars- unbelievable. 

Matt had settled, for reasons even Shiro hadn’t been informed of, on Columbia, and absolutely could not be dissuaded. 

Shiro knew that Matt had told Pidge- the two of them shared just about everything- but Shiro had never asked. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Shiro’s grandfather had always said- and he lived by that, at least in this. Matt and Pidge… they were the best thing in his life. Shiro didn’t care what had brought them there- he was just glad it had. 

Strange though it may sound, Shiro had never been more thankful for anything in his life than the Holt siblings nearly getting hit by a bus. 

For most of the year before he had met them, Shiro had been alone, and he had found that he actually didn’t mind it. It was easier that way, really, or at least so he had told himself- no one depending on him, all the space he could ever want or need, independence, learning to be self-sufficient, and, best yet, no one to hurt or be hurt by at the slip of the tongue or loose lips. 

He had never let himself think the word “lonely.” 

And then, in the blink of an eye, the Holts waltzed into his life, hyper and ridiculously smart and caffeine-addicted and unpredictable and random and a little crazy and incredible. 

Starvation for friendship and human contact had hit him like a brick to the face- a much-needed brick. Looking back, he couldn’t believe his own denseness, his own ability to overlook something that was blaring in his face just by virtue of sheer stubbornness. It still amazed him a little. 

The second he got home he turned on Pandora (Pidge’s favorite station, because that would make Pidge happy and Matt was happy when his sister was happy) and started brewing pumpkin spice coffee, because it was Matt’s favorite this time of year (Pidge loved it because her brother loved it even though her preference was plain black) and pulled out a box of gingersnaps and a carton of fresh strawberries to accommodate snack necessities (both of them ate like linebackers, despite being small). He stepped back to admire his handiwork, inhaling the smell of coffee beans and pumpkin spice and cookies, and smiled. It was simple, but it was just enough. 

Sitting down at the desk, Shiro flipped open his laptop and got to work on his essay assignment. It wasn’t due for a week, but he liked to finish homework early- and besides, as soon as Pidge and Matt turned up it would be abandoned anyway. This was an easy enough way to pass the time. 

He was halfway through the conclusion paragraph when he heard the door open, followed by greetings in familiar voices and the unmistakable sound of feet thundering toward the counter holding the strawberries and the coffee. Shiro grinned to himself and shut the laptop as he spun his chair around to face them, standing up and ruffling Pidge’s hair as he walked over to Matt- who, smiling back at him, still made him melt, even though they’d been together for months now- and kissed him on the cheek in greeting. “Hey,” he said, grinning stupidly down at his boyfriend. 

“Hi,” Matt replied cheerily, bouncing up on his toes to kiss Shiro’s cheek before bounding over to the counter and diving into the bowl of gingersnaps. Shiro grinned as they stuffed their faces, walking back over and pulling himself up to sit on the counter. They were talking about Thanksgiving, discussing whether they’d be going home or not, and Shiro looked on fondly as they fought over the biggest strawberry. 

When, three minutes later, the battle was decided (Pidge won, obviously) Matt abandoned the food and moved around the counter to stand beside Shiro. Shiro grinned and pulled Matt up to sit in his lap. Shiro had to leave in a little while- he had an errand to run for Second Chance and then some hours to log at the building itself that night- but for now he pushed that thought aside, focusing instead on Matt cuddling into his chest and Pidge lip-syncing to the radio as she devoured all of Shiro’s strawberries. 

Matt and Pidge would probably stay here when he left, work on homework and watch crappy game shows on late-night TV and eat all Shiro’s food and maybe scatter pieces of their latest small-scale robotics project all over Shiro’s counter. They had an apartment that wasn’t horribly far away, but they hardly ever left when Shiro had to go work at Second Chance. They were always here when he got back, exhausted and drained and often unhappy from thinking about what all those kids went through on a daily basis, and Pidge would give him that playful little punch on the shoulder, and Matt would wrap his arms around Shiro’s waist and hold on until Shiro forgot anything had ever been wrong in the first place. 

He loved them so much he thought he just might burst from it. 

The three of them lounged around his apartment until he had to go. Matt caught him at the door, catching Shiro around the waist. Pidge, sitting on the couch, appeared to be completely engrossed in whatever it was she was watching and didn’t appear to notice them. 

“See you in a few hours,” Matt murmured, stretching up on his toes to give Shiro a slow, sweet kiss goodbye. 

“See you in a few hours,” Shiro echoed, slightly breathless as he shot Matt one last smile, pulled on his coat, and walked out the door. 

He grinned like an idiot all the way down to the street and out the door. 

***

Shiro checked his email again- for the third time- before hailing a cab. He was supposed to go to a soup kitchen midtown and meet with the manager, double-check with her on a collab Allura had planned for the Saturday after next. It was simple enough, easier than some other things she’d asked him to do in the past. 

The taxi driver dropped him off right in front of the building. It was a bit old but looked plenty functional, the front and the sign painted in a homey style that looked safe and welcoming. It looked like a nice little place. 

Ducking inside, Shiro saw dinner already in full swing. Servers were lined up behind the counter, smiling brightly and dutifully ladling out steamed vegetables, pasta, and assorted other choices. He couldn’t see the manager anywhere, though. He started across the room to the serving counter; someone there would probably know where she was. 

He stopped near the end of the counter, where there were fewer servers. A boy in a yellow t-shirt looked over at him with bright eyes. He was tall, and looked younger than most of the other volunteers, maybe fifteen or sixteen. 

Shiro offered a smile, which was immediately returned. “Hi,” Shiro said, and the boy said, “Hi, are you here for dinner? The line actually starts down-” 

“No, no,” Shiro cut him off hurriedly, giving the boy an embarrassed smile. “Uh, my name is Takashi Shirogane? Shiro? I was supposed to meet with your manager today.” 

The boy behind the counter instantly perked up. “Ohhh, well I can show you to your office if you want. We don’t have many people in here right now anyway.” Shiro nodded. “That’d be great, thanks,” he said, and the boy beamed. 

“Awesome,” he said, putting down his spoon and gesturing for Shiro to come around the counter, leading him down a hallway he hadn’t noticed before. 

“So Shiro, are you here for a job? Or like a volunteer opportunity? I think we’re full but maybe she could find something for you to do, she’s really good about that kind of stuff. They were pretty full when I got here too- I’m Hunk, by the way- but she found a spot for me and it’s not the greatest hours, and it’s not really what I was looking for, you know? But it is a good-” 

“Hunk!” someone shouted, and he stopped talking as both of them turned to find the source of the noise. 

A boy was loping up behind them, tall and lean, with an easy smile. As he got closer, he said, “Hunk, you talking this poor guy’s ear off? At least tell me you’re giving him a pep talk for his interview.” 

Before Hunk could respond, Shiro took the chance to finally get a word in edgewise. “Actually, I’m not here for a job. I do a lot over at Second Chance. Allura- the regional president- she sent me to verify a collab with your manager a couple of weeks from now.” 

“OH!” Hunk said, laughing. “Oh, well sorry, my bad, my bad. Anyway though, her office is right through here, have fun!” The other boy reached Hunk just as Shiro was ducking through the door, and he snickered at Hunk’s parting statement. 

There was a bad feeling in Shiro’s stomach. 

***

Twenty minutes later, Shiro escaped the manager’s office and shut the door behind him, leaning back against it with a sigh. 

It had easily landed the top five list for most stressful meetings of his life. The manager was cold, snippish, and had a short temper. Every other sentence she interrupted him to accuse him or Allura of condescension, of backing out last-minute, of probably everything she could think of. 

As he started back down the hall, he wished that Hunk would have given him a little more warning. He had seemed so nice. 

As Shiro walked back out of the hall, he saw kitchen workers putting away food and starting to clean up dishes. People were still eating, but there were less of them than there had been before. Shiro made his way back around the counter, and then leaned against the end, where Hunk was pouring the contents of pots and pans into tupperware containers labeled with the date and the word “dinner.” 

Hunk perked up when he saw Shiro. “Hey, how’d it go?” he asked cheerfully. Shiro raised a brow. “Not great,” he said, “but I finished what I came here to do, so at least I can tell Allura that that’s one less thing she has to worry about.” Hunk’s face fell. “She can be kinda harsh sometimes,” Hunk says sadly. “I would have mentioned it, but I don’t really like to say bad things about people. I see the good, you know? She’s a good manager, and she keeps this place running smoothly, and she gives people second chances- I messed up a lot my first week here- so I like to let other people try and see the good too, you know?” 

Shiro softened toward Hunk immediately. Shiro knew exactly what he meant, about seeing the good. He was a nice kid. “It’s no problem at all, Hunk, I totally get it. I think that’s actually a really great way to look at life,” he reassured. He was about to leave, but then he thought again. It wasn’t like he was in a huge rush, and anyway, he kind of liked talking to Hunk. 

“So what brought you here?” Shiro asked, and Hunk shrugged. “Lance and I- that’s my best friend, the guy you met earlier- made an agreement to start volunteering, and this was pretty much the only place that had a spot for me to work in the kitchen. It’s just serving, but I love to work with food and people, so even though I’d rather cook…” he shrugs. “This is a pretty good middle point.” 

An idea suddenly sprang into Shiro’s head. He smiled and leaned against the counter. “Hey, so I was thinking…” Shiro paused, doubting himself. Maybe Hunk really liked it here. Maybe he wouldn’t want to come. 

He looked up at the boy’s open, curious face and decided it didn’t really matter anyway. 

“We’re pretty full over at Second Chance, but I know the president really well and I bet I could get you a spot in the kitchen over there. If you wanted I bet I could even get her to let you work out in the dining room too. More people serving food always helps us, and we like to have volunteers out mingling with the people eating. I think you’d like it there.” 

Hunk just stared, open-mouthed. 

After a long, awkward moment, Shiro said, “Uh, you don’t have to…” 

“OF COURSE HE DOES,” someone shouted, and suddenly Lance popped up from a storage room behind the serving counter. “That sounds so great,” Lance said, clapping a still-gaping Hunk on the shoulder. “He’ll do it,” Lance beamed, and Hunk finally snapped out of it. 

“Uh,” he said. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, that sounds, well, that sounds _amazing_. You really think you can do that?” Shiro nodded confidently. “Allura and I go way back,” he said, and Hunk and Lance both beamed at him. 

“Awesome!” Hunk said, smile brilliant. “So should I come down sometime or…?” Shiro shrugged and said, “If you’ve got the time, you can come down now. Dinner will probably be going by the time we get there, so you could kind of see what you’d be signing up for.” 

Hunk lit up. “I’ll go tell the manager that I’ve gotta leave,” he said, and vanished down the hallway. 

Lance smiled at Shiro. “Seriously, thank you. He would never say it, but he hates it here. What you just offered him… that sounds amazing. I can’t thank you enough.” 

Shiro smiled back. “No problem,” he said. “I’m just lucky I met him. We could use more people like that. Actually, the whole world could.” 

“No arguments,” Lance said with a grin. 

When Hunk came back, Shiro led the way out the door while Lance and Hunk followed, talking loudly. They walked down the street side-by-side, Shiro occasionally jumping in on their conversation. 

Lance, as he found out, was loud, theatrical, talkative and funny, both easy and fun to be around. Hunk, on the other hand, was even sweeter than he had first thought- though he was easily able to keep up with Lance’s talking and seemed kind of paranoid. 

“So Lance, do you volunteer anywhere?” Shiro asked as they walked. Lance nodded. “Yeah, I actually volunteer at Second Chance, since I was like eleven with my sister. It’s just that I can only log like an hour a week because of the way they scheduled me, and I’m only doing stuff like organizing files or organizing the storage rooms.” 

Shiro frowned. That didn’t seem right. Lance was too fun and bright for that. He would do much better at… 

“Oh my god,” Shiro said on a laugh. “I’ve got the perfect job for you. You should volunteer in the dining room at meals! We like to have people who just kind of hang out with the people who come in for breakfast and dinner, so they know they have people they can be friends with and talk to, you know? You’d be great at it. If you want, I can talk to Allura about getting you moved up there.” 

Hunk grinned as Lance dropped his jaw and then commenced shouting near-incomprehensibly. The two fist-bumped and then Lance said, “That sounds freaking perfect. You think she’ll let me?” Shiro nodded confidently. “I can talk her into it,” he said. “She’s cool, especially considering all the responsibility she’s got.” 

As they walked down the street, Shiro smiled. 

He knew he could get them these jobs. And something told him that this would be one of the best decisions he’d ever made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for 3000+ hits and 300+ kudos! I really appreciate the comments and support I've been getting, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Chapter 21 should be up today or tomorrow if all goes as planned, thanks for reading!
> 
> Edit 8/20/17: Okay so I just wanted to apologize for not having 21 up like I promised and let you guys know that I'm actually on vacation visiting family and old friends so my posting schedule will probably be erratic at best until Friday. However, when I do post again I'm planning on posting multiple chapters at once, so hopefully that makes up for a little bit. I'm so sorry for the messed-up schedule but thank you all for reading!


	21. Bulletproof Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance are seriously the only characters, because for some reason I keep doing chapters that are just Keith being angsty and Lance being awesome and comforting him, I don't know (also sorry this is like the third time I've done this or something). Anyway, hope you like it!

_So get me out of my head_   
_Cuz it’s gettin’ kinda cramped you know_

 

Keith sat on the floor of his room with his hands fisted in his hair and tugging at the strands, knees pulled up to his chest. The door was locked, the lights were off, and even though the windows were thrown wide open it was too quiet. 

What the fuck had he just done? 

Breakfast had been… insane. He had given in to his selfish desires, and now it was too late to take it back. They had all been so excited, even though he didn’t say another word the whole meal. They kept asking him questions, not seeming even a little bothered that he never answered, even as Keith had felt the pressure of panic in his chest. It had taken a few minutes for what he’d done to fully sink in, but when it did… regret was almost instantaneous. 

He’d made Lance so happy. That was what hurt him the most. Lance’s blue eyes had lit up, and his voice had been so thrilled you could hear the smile in it without even looking at his face. He’d been so happy, and Keith… Keith just regretted it. 

He couldn’t talk anymore. Not again. Despite how much need he’d felt in those few minutes for the bond, the type of family they’d built themselves, he knew that it could never end well. He wasn’t good at having relationships of any kind, that much he’d learned over the years. And if there had ever been any people he didn’t want to hurt, it would be those four, no matter how illogical it seemed. 

Slowly, Keith released a breath and dropped his hands from his hair. There was no way to fix this. They’d heard him talk, so they’d all assume he was just… ready now. Ready to talk to them and rebuild his life and fix himself. 

He looked out the window. It was hard to see stars through all the light pollution of the city, but the full moon was on clear display through his window. He let his eyes trace over every mark in its surface, every mark sustained by the careless blow of something else, some other force, that of course the moon couldn’t stop. 

Keith tore his eyes away and buried his face in his hands. He could leave tonight- leave Lance’s jacket folded on the dresser, flip the lock, leave the room, and just walk away. He could go. 

But something held him in place, even as his eyes wandered to the locked door. Maybe it was that he didn’t want to go, didn’t want to never see these people again even if he knew he shouldn’t let himself grow any closer to them. Maybe it was that he didn’t think they deserved it- he knew that all of them had invested time and energy in him and that he had already given next to nothing back, and leaving might just be seen as a slap in the face. He didn’t really know. 

He didn’t sit by his window. It looked cold and lonely in the light of the moon, in a way it never had before. He stayed away. 

Curling into the floor, Keith shut his eyes and tried, for the first time in days, to sleep. 

***  
He woke up to the sound of someone knocking loudly at the door. 

Keith sat up, rubbing at his eyes and marveling that he had slept at all. He glanced at the door. Locked still. 

Standing and stretching stiff muscles, he made his way cautiously to the door. Maybe it was Allura, here to demand he talk to her, or kick him out. Maybe it was Coran, who Keith hadn’t seen in a while either. Or… 

Keith opened the door and found him staring into Lance’s blue eyes. 

He moved aside silently to let Lance in, even though a voice in his head was saying it would be best if he didn’t. Lance walked through and pulled himself up to sit on the dresser as Keith silently shut the door behind him and resumed his place on the floor. 

“No more windowsill, huh?” Lance asked, and Keith could feel the other boy’s eyes on him as Lance awaited an answer. When none came, Lance sighed. 

“Look,” he said. “In the last few years, since I started volunteering in the dining room here, I’ve met a lot of people with a lot of issues. I’ve talked through things that I couldn’t personally relate to so many times that I could now be considered an expert in the field of trauma like… well, like what you’ve been through. I’ve met so many people, Keith, and I think that maybe by now I’ve got some idea of what’s going on in your head. I can’t be sure, but…” he shrugged. “This morning, I think you really wanted to talk to us. I think you wanted to be close to us, because you saw us being close to each other. And I get that, Keith. I do. But what I also think is…” he hesitates. 

“I think you’re scared. And maybe you’re scared of being hurt, because you have been before, or maybe you’re scared of hurting us, because you’ve experienced that before too. But whatever it is… Keith, you don’t need to be scared. Hurt is a part of life, but more than that… like I told you before, you’re not broken, and you won’t break us. We all care about you, Keith, even if it is a little crazy. You don’t need to be scared. We can help you, you know? So you won’t have to be scared anymore.” 

Keith pulls Lance’s jacket tighter around his torso as the latter finishes talking and stands up to leave. He pauses at the door. 

“If I’m even a little bit right…” Lance says, trailing off. “Well, I hope you can take my advice.” He looks up and gives Keith the sweetest smile- a look that starts to melt away the dread that’s been hovering in Keith’s stomach all day. “We can take whatever you can, buddy,” he says quietly, and leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooooo sorry it's taken so long to update, and that it was such a short chapter after the wait. I am still writing though, so hopefully I'll be able to get more up soon. Things got kind of busy again out of nowhere, but this week I'm gonna try and get a lot of work done on this fic to make up for it if I can. Thank you so much for sticking with me and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	22. ...But Home Is Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This time imperfect)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance is really great isn't he?

_Asphyxiate on words I would say_  
_I’m drawn to a blackened sky as I turn blue_

 

He couldn’t hear birds outside, but he could hear traffic. The sun was peeking over the edge of the horizon, just starting to cast light across the city, and the dining hall was opening for breakfast somewhere below. 

He hadn’t gone back to sleep after Lance left the night before- he estimated that he’d slept for maybe an hour and a half- but he hadn’t locked the door again either. He was now caught somewhere in between wanting to go downstairs and talk to them, like Lance had so plainly said he could- even should- and wanting to hide here until they forgot he existed so that none of them would have to deal with him anymore. 

Before he could over think it, he stood up and walked out of the room and straight into the dining hall. 

He got in line with a tray, both hoping and not hoping to see Hunk behind the counter again today. He could almost feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, but he’d made up his mind. 

He didn’t want to be afraid forever. He’d always hated being scared; it was part of the reason numbing himself became such a handy skill. Numbness he could take so much better than being scared. He didn’t want to be afraid, and he didn’t want to be weak. 

So he wasn’t going to be. 

He filled his plate without looking at the faces of his servers, because he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to maintain his resolve if he saw Hunk’s concerned face. When he hit the end of the line, he sucked in a breath and turned to search the dining hall. 

He didn’t see any of them. His heart sank. Maybe they all had the day off. But the back table was open, so he grabbed his tray from the counter and walked quickly toward it before someone else could stake a claim. He couldn’t help a slight grin of satisfaction when he sat down before another group that had been headed this way. 

“OH MY GOD-” someone shrieked from his right, just before being cut off. 

Keith looked over to see Shiro, Pidge, Hunk and Lance all standing off to his right with trays in hand. Pidge was pointing at Keith, wide-eyed, and Shiro’s hand was over her mouth as the latter grinned embarrassedly and waved a little. The other two were slack-jawed and staring, Lance smiling slightly through his shock. 

Keith stared back at them like a deer in the headlights, thoughts racing. What did he do? 

Pidge squirmed until she managed to wriggle free of Shiro’s grip, then turned to stare at Keith again. “Oh my god,” she said. “Did you guys see that? Please tell me you saw that!” She was still pointing, and Keith leaned away slightly, worried her flailing arms would hit him. 

“I think that was actually the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Hunk said faintly, hands on either side of his face as he continued to stare. “And my mom volunteers at a kitten rescue.” 

Lance was grinning, obviously amused by Keith’s confusion as the four of them found places to sit on the benches around him. 

“You were smiling,” Lance explained, and Keith stared back blankly, feeling his cheeks go red. He couldn’t remember the last time he blushed, either. Pidge shrieked again, flopping dramatically onto Shiro’s shoulder. “It’s so cute,” she moaned, and Shiro just patted her head reassuringly as he dug into his breakfast. 

“These eggs are subpar,” Hunk said disdainfully, already moving on from what had apparently become a very important topic. “Izzy must have made them.” Lance grinned over at his friend. “If you want we can sneak into the kitchen and you can make a new batch to replace them,” he suggested helpfully. “I know a guy.” 

Hunk rolled his eyes. “You know all the guys,” he said, but he was smiling. “That won’t be necessary,” he reassured after another bite of the eggs. “I’ll just make really good eggs tomorrow to make up for today.” 

“Please do,” Shiro said, pushing his plate around so the eggs were furthest away from him. “I don’t think I can ever eat other people’s eggs again, Hunk.” Hunk grinned proudly while Lance laughed. Pidge was engrossed in another heaping plateful of strawberries. 

“How-” Keith broke off and cleared his throat when the word came out raspy, trying to ignore the way the table had gone silent around him. “How do you keep getting strawberries?” he asked weakly, resisting the urge to curl into himself at the weight of all the stares focused on him. 

Pidge stared blankly for roughly four seconds before grinning, sitting up, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “I made friends with the guy who does most of the work with the produce in the kitchen,” she said, a self-satisfied look on her face. “He gets me the strawberries.” 

Keith nodded and returned to his pancakes, keeping his eyes focused on his food until he feels their eyes start to drift away from him. He hadn’t stopped to think before he spoke. He had just blurted it out, which was probably how it had to be; overthinking it probably would have stopped him. 

Slowly, they began to return to their conversations. Keith listened in but didn’t contribute- someone named Matt had been staying at school way too late to work on things for his classes, according to Pidge and Shiro, and Lance was excited for an upcoming swim meet, according to Lance and Hunk. Keith smiled slightly into his food every now and then as he listens to them. With the dissolution of his silence came the dissolution of his constant straight face, apparently, and he was surprised at how good it felt to allow expression to show on his face again- to smile. He’d spent a long time hiding these things. 

It felt like a pressure had been released from low in his chest. He wasn’t sure he’d even really noticed its presence before. He felt... more free than he really ever had. He almost smiled again. Really, all of this was because of… 

He looked to his right. 

Lance. 

Hunk was chatting away merrily opposite Lance, and Shiro and Pidge were still talking about Matt. Nobody was watching him as he slid over on his bench, leaned toward Lance and quietly said, “Thank you.” 

He got up to empty his tray, and nobody really noticed the smile Lance wore as Keith walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all for bearing with me through my erratic posting and short chapters, and thanks for all the comments and kudos! I appreciate all you guys, hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Alright, so this chapter was kind of crappy and muddled, so I'm gonna take a quick break and then start writing again in a few hours. I plan to get three more chapters up relatively soon, stick with me just a little bit longer!


	23. The Sharpest Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith finally opens up a bit about his past

_A kiss and I will surrender_  
_The sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead_

 

Keith went now to every meal. He didn’t always talk, but over the course of the last week- it had been exactly seven days since he’d started talking- he’d begun to speak more and more. He smiled more, too, and laughed. 

The amount of pressure it had taken off of him was enormous. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had anyone to talk to, even about things as trivial as where Hunk had hidden the coffee on any given morning. There was something about knowing that he _could_ talk to them if he wanted to, that he now had people in his life who he was comfortable smiling with and laughing with and just being around in a way that wasn’t required or forced, that made him feel lighter than he had since he was a small child. 

Hunk had been in the kitchen that night, and the normal supervisor was out, which left Hunk in charge of overseeing all the dinner prep. It was the best meal Keith had ever eaten. He continued to marvel as he shoveled food into his mouth. He’d actually wanted to talk- but he was far too distracted by his food, so he let the rest of them converse instead as he took seconds. 

“I remember this one time I was at Shiro’s, and I was checking all the strawberry bushes on the roof for anything edible,” Pidge recalled as she finished off her garlic bread. “I was walking around barefoot cuz I was too lazy to figure out where I’d left my shoes and I stepped on this rusty shovel. It scratched my foot- it wasn’t very bad, not even bleeding a lot- but Matt flipped out and dragged me downstairs and started rambling at Shiro about tetanus shots.” 

“We ended up spending six hours at the hospital the day before my midterms,” Shiro finished, voice somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Matt was freaking out. He kept talking about how his parents would kill him if he let his little sister get tetanus and it was only his freshman year.” 

Everyone laughed as Keith swallowed. Gazing thoughtfully into space, he said,”I thought I had tetanus once. I was-” he stopped suddenly, a ragged sound escaping his throat as he cut himself off forcefully. 

He had forgotten himself, for a moment. Forgotten what, exactly, he had been about to tell them. 

He looked up to find them all watching him with a mix of curiosity and concern. 

“You okay?” Shiro asked, clearly worried. Their faces were displaying more and more concern the longer he remained silent. He wondered if he’d gone pale. He definitely felt nauseous. 

The steadily-increasing concern on their faces made guilt press down on his chest like blocks of concrete. Maybe… maybe he should just tell them. He’d considered, over the last few days, starting to actually tell them things about his past. If talking about such trivial things had been such a good experience, and all of Lance’s more serious talks in the past had been so helpful, maybe this would be too- at least that had been his thought. 

Faced with the actual thing, it seemed so much scarier. He felt like his throat was closing up. 

But Keith didn’t want to be scared anymore. 

Going on a knee-jerk gut reaction, he sucked in a breath and began to speak, quickly, before he could lose the nerve. 

“I, uh, I was thirteen. He, um. He had just-” shoved me into “-let me go back into… the garage, to sleep.” He was struggling, even more than he’d anticipated. He had never once told them anything about his past. He didn’t know if even Allura knew much about how he’d lived, but if he knew anything, he knew that that man would never talk. The bastard was many things, but self-sacrificing had never been one of them. 

At most, Allura may have heard basic police reports that hypothesized abuse and domestic servitude, and that they’d found a dog bed in the corner of the garage where the concrete walls were scratched beyond recognition, despite the absence of any actual dogs. He didn’t think they knew. Maybe. But he would run off the basis that they didn’t. 

“I was trying to get back to my…. Bed. But the lights were dim, because he didn’t want to waste electricity on the garage. I cut my foot on something, I’m not sure what. I got pretty sick for the next few days, but I worked anyway, and after a while it got better.” 

Keith shrugged, looking at the wall beyond Shiro and Pidge’s shoulders. His fixation on the wall kept him from seeing their expressions, and since he was worried about what he’d see in their faces… it was better to focus on something benign and mundane until either he was ready or they were. 

He looked away from the wall, bypassing their faces to look down at his hands instead. He hadn’t realized he was shaking. What was wrong with him? 

His mind flashed back to that time years ago. He’d shaken a lot during that week. He always felt sick, but when he was nauseous he made sure to hide in a bathroom far away from where the old man was- he took displays of weakness almost as badly as he took displays of insubordination or disrespect. 

He remembered falling into bed instead of settling down multiple nights, because his body was shaking so hard after a full day of hard work despite his illness that it couldn’t even really hold him up anymore. He remembered retching into the kitchen sink, trying desperately to quiet his coughs so the old man couldn’t hear him from the office upstairs. He remembered being hit for not bringing tea up fast enough- his legs and spine had stiffened and shaken to the point where he thought he’d fall over or drop the tea or both, and he couldn’t move- and only barely managing to stumble out of the office before dropping to the floor and crawling weakly into a quiet room, where he had lain for several minutes, shivering and sweating and wishing desperately that the pounding in his head that blurred his vision and the nausea swimming in his stomach would go away. 

“Hey, Keith? Buddy?” he heard an anxious voice calling him, and he looked up. He hadn’t realized that his breathing had become faster and more shallow, that his hands were shaking harder and now his whole body seemed to be trembling with them. His eyes were wet, but he didn’t think any tears had fallen. 

Everyone at the table was staring at him in concern, and he dropped his head again. Weak. He was so weak. They had all been sick before, he was sure, and none of them were breaking down over it. And now he was causing them needless guilt, and he couldn’t force his body to stop shaking, even though he kept trying. 

He couldn’t stop thinking of all the times he had wondered if he was dying. Of the pain that radiated through his very bones, even in the simplest of tasks. 

He should be able to deal with it better. 

He felt a hand rest, featherlight, on his shoulder, and looked up in shock. 

None of them had touched him since Lance had tried to touch his shoulder, forever ago. 

No wonder, then, that it was the same person making the attempt now. 

Keith stared into Lance’s deep blue eyes, trying to lose himself in them the way he always seemed to be able to. Looking into Lance’s eyes, things never seemed so bad, for some reason. 

The other boy was watching him worriedly. “You okay?” he asked. The faces around him were concerned and sympathetic, but Keith focused on Lance. There was something soothing about him, and watching his face, the worry in his expression but the reassurance in his eyes, Keith felt his trembling begin to ease, his breathing begin to slow, the tears blinked back from his eyes. 

He noted the gentle touch of Lance’s graceful, slim hand on his shoulder, and his thoughts came to a halt as it registered. He hadn’t been touched in a long time, and he hadn’t been touched gently in far longer. 

He almost wanted to lean into the touch. 

Almost. 

Taking in a deep, shuddering sigh, he cleared his throat and pulled gently away from Lance’s touch. Though it had been… nice, he wasn’t… he wasn’t ready yet. 

“Yeah,” he said, a little surprised but rather pleased when his voice came out only a little rough rather than pathetically hoarse. “I’m alright. Sorry,” he added as an afterthought. 

They all shook their heads, but it was Shiro who said, “Never apologize for that, understand? You’ve been through a lot. We get that, I promise. You never need to apologize, to us or anyone.” There was a vehemence in Shiro’s tone that surprised Keith a little- but not much. Shiro… Shiro was a born leader, anyone could tell. And those kinds of words? They sounded right coming from him. It seemed right. 

Slowly, Keith nodded. “Okay,” he said quietly, and when Lance smiled at him, he tentatively smiled back, the other three grinning too as his expression became one of cautious happiness. 

Keith was sure they couldn’t see his fingers curling into Lance’s jacket, still wrapped around him, beneath the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I've got a bunch of stuff I kept thinking I needed to put in the notes while I was writing this chapter, and I'm probably gonna forget most of it, but hopefully not. 
> 
> I wanted to mention that I've found myself slipping into present tense a lot while writing this fic and then having to go back and correct a lot, so if you notice any slip-ups, I'm so sorry, my bad. 
> 
> I also wanted to ask if you guys have any ideas for bonus chapters and let you know that the next one probably won't be up until Ch. 25- sorry for falling behind on that! 
> 
> Anyway, I'm sure I've forgotten something, but thank you all for reading! I appreciate the support I've been getting so much. Everyone I've been getting comments from is so great, and all these kudos are kind of blowing my mind. Thank you so much, hope you enjoyed it!


	24. Map of the Problematique (BONUS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I think I got a request for this as a bonus in the comments a few chapters back- not quite sure if this was what was meant but I hope so? 
> 
> Anyway, basically this is the bonus for 4000 hits (even though I'm already past 4000 hits, you guys are such awesome readers that I can't even keep up with you) and it's about Lance, Shiro, Pidge and Hunk hearing about the situation at Keith's house and Lance convincing Allura to let him go on the raid (flashback chapter from Lance's POV). Hopefully it doesn't suck, leave feedback in the comments below!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, be forewarned that I have no idea how anything like this actually works so I pretty much just took my best guess, my apologies if I screwed up too severely

_And no one thinks they are to blame_  
_Why can’t we see_  
_That when we bleed we bleed the same?_

 

Hunk must be magic. 

That was the only explanation Lance could come up with as he ate all the leftover cake he could get his hands on. Dinner had been insanely, mind-blowingly good, and dessert was just as amazing. He knew he would regret having eaten all this cake, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he dropped his head back and moaned around a mouthful, “Oh my god Hunk, this is _so good_.” 

Lance was perched one of the stainless-steel-topped counters in the kitchen. A lot of the volunteers who had been on staff for tonight’s dinner were already gone. Hunk was at one of the massive sinks, diligently scrubbing dishes with a faint smile on his face. Shiro and Pidge were sitting opposite each other on a table in the middle of the banks of counters, criss-cross and sharing half of a leftover cake between them while poking cautiously at a small project of Pidge’s that she swore up and down had tried to kill her earlier. 

“Thanks, buddy,” Hunk said, slight smile growing as he listened to Pidge and Shiro discuss the possibility of her latest pocket robot becoming sentient. The adorable thing was that they were both serious, or at least it really looked like they were. Lance almost laughed and choked on his last bite of cake- almost. He bit it back. No sense in wasting some really freaking amazing cake because his friends were dorks who were _horrible_ about following the skin care regimens he had painstakingly written out for each of them, the ungrateful nerds. 

He cracked up as Shiro yelped and almost fell off the table when Pidge threw a plastic fork at his face. 

God, he loved his friends. 

The sound of something heavy falling and muffled cursing sounded from the hallway beyond the kitchen. Lance turned his head as the sound of several sets of footsteps and the scuffling sounds of a large group of people trying to navigate the cramped downstairs passageway all at once filled his ears. The voices that accompanied the movement sounded urgent. He strained his ears, trying to hear what they were saying, but he couldn’t make it out. 

“Hey Hunk, buddy, I’ll be right back,” he said, abandoning his plate and jumping off the counter, making for the door out to the hall. 

Scuffling and footsteps sounded behind him. Lance stopped and turned to see all three of his friends following behind him, crowded up in a close huddle a few feet away, like cartoon characters all trying to stop suddenly at once. 

Lance grinned and shook his head fondly. Such. Dorks. Turning, he twisted the knob on the door and stepped out just in time to see the flurry of people he’d heard turning the corner to climb the stairs. 

“Hey,” he called, half-jogging after him. The back half of the group stopped to regard him as the rest continued up the stairs like Hell was on their heels. Or a rabid squirrel. He’d always thought it would be rather frightening to be chased by a rabid squirrel. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, slowing to a stop at the base of the stairs. He felt his friends come to a stop beside him. 

“Police are going on a raid tonight,” one guy explained hurriedly as the rest of the people who’d stopped started going again. “There’s this house a little bit outside the city. A neighbor called in a few minutes ago, said she’d been living there a year and she was pretty sure the guy had a slave in there, or something like that. We didn’t get a lot of specifics, but they want Allura to send some people. We’re going up for an emergency meeting.” 

With that, he hurried after the rest of his group. 

Lance looked back at his friends. As soon as their eyes met, he knew they’d reached an agreement. 

Wasting no time, the four of them lunged after the rest of the people darting up the stairs. 

***

It seemed like most of the people still left here at this hour had packed into conference room A. It was the biggest meeting room they had, but it was still laughably undersized for the number of people trying to squeeze into it now. 

Allura was at the head of a table, trying hard to get people to stop talking so she could speak but not having much success. She looked exhausted and stressed out. 

Lance exchanged a look with Shiro, and the two of them pushed through the crowd together. Shiro went for Allura’s side. Lance took a different approach. 

He repeated a mantra of, “Excuse me, pardon me, sorry,” as he worked his way through the crowd, weaving between the tight-packed bodies until he reached the center. 

Using a chair as a makeshift step stool, he climbed onto the table. Putting his fingers to his lips and fighting the urge to grin- he hadn’t realized he had wanted to do this for a long time but he had wanted to do this for a long time- he whistled his loudest taxi whistle, the way he always saw people do it in the movies. 

It was actually effective. People instantly shut up and turned to find the source of the noise. It didn’t take them long; he wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, standing in the middle of the table with his head almost hitting the florescent lights and a big, beaming grin on his face. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he pronounced to their uncomprehending faces. Pidge and Hunk had managed to wiggle their way closer, so they were in the midst of the crowd, giggling like lunatics and trying to hide it- failing miserably, of course. He turned so he could see Allura, Shiro, and Coran, who were watching him from the head of the table. Coran’s orange eyebrows were raised, and Allura looked even more stressed, a little like she might faint. Shiro was staring at him with raised eyebrows, looking torn between laughing and face-palming. 

“I know you’re all very excited,” he said. “But if you could please direct your attention to this lovely lady over here-” he swiveled toward Allura, pointing his customary finger gun in her direction and dropping a wink- she rolled her eyes but she was smiling and no longer looked in danger of fainting, so he considered it a win- “and this mustached gentleman over here-” he turned his finger gun on Coran, whose eyebrows somehow managed to rise even further- “it would be much appreciated.” 

Dropping his finger gun, he tossed his arms up in the air and shouted, “Good night New York!” before dropping from the table and landing neatly on his feet. He grinned proudly as Hunk and Pidge made their way toward him. 

He wanted to talk to them, but Allura had launched into a debriefing, so he held his tongue. Depending on her mood, he may have pushed it already with the table thing. He was outgoing, but he wasn’t suicidal. She was scary when she was pissed. 

“Alright,” Allura sighed. “So, we’ve gotten a call from a police department within the city. They told me that they had received a request for assistance from a Westchester department. They told the Manhattan precinct that they had received a phone call from a woman in a neighborhood about twenty minutes from their station, stating that she was concerned that her neighbor across the street was keeping a slave. She reported-” she paused to consult the clipboard in front of her- “She reported continual suspicious activity, and that she’d been hearing a lot of yelling from the house that night. She called it in, and the Westchester precinct decided to launch a raid on the house in question. However, they are a very small precinct, so they requested the assistance of a larger precinct in Manhattan. The Manhattan precinct has requested that we send people with them on the raid for our-” she coughs slightly- “our expertise, and for any assistance they may need if they do find a human trafficking victim inside that house.” 

She looked up from the report in her hands and says. “I’d like to send four. Can I get a few volunteers?” 

At least three-fourths of the hands in the room shot up, including Lance’s, and his heart sank. With all these people who were also so eager to go, there was almost no chance she’d pick him. 

Allura gazed out at the room consideringly, not seeming too surprised by all the volunteers. This was a pretty rare kind of opportunity, after all- that was why Lance wanted to go, and he was sure that was why most of these people wanted to go too. 

“Hmm,” Allura said, and then began pointing, calling out names. The guy who had stopped to explain what was happening on the stairs was called. Lance was not. 

Hands began to drop from the air as the four volunteers Allura had chosen made their way to the front of the room to talk with her. 

Allura lifted her head to address everyone else that was still in the room. “We’ll handle this tonight and give you all an update in the morning. Now everyone, you’re dismissed. Go home. Have a good night, we’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The rumble of people talking started up again as the crowd began to drain from the room. Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and Shiro remained behind, Shiro leaving Allura’s side to make his way back to them as people filtered out. 

He gave Lance a sympathetic look, clearly reading his expression, which Lance was sure was sad and pouty. He’d never been great at hiding his emotions, and he actually preferred it that way. 

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Hunk said, dropping a reassuring hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Maybe she’ll let you go next time.” 

Allura, Coran, and the four people she’d chosen- only the one of which he even remotely recognized- were starting to move out of the room, heading down the hall while still deep in conversation. 

“Yeah, maybe she’ll let me go anyway,” he agreed, even though he knew exactly what they said. 

Hunk’s brow furrowed in confusion and he started saying, “Yeah, wait, no, that’s not what I-” Pidge and Shiro were sharing a look, and Pidge started to say over Hunk, “Oh shit, he’s gonna-” 

Lance was already darting away from them, chasing Allura and Coran down the hall. He had to go tonight. He wouldn’t let them tell him no, he had to. 

His long legs let him catch them just around the next turn, headed for the stairs and the front door. “Hey, wait!” Lance said, pulling up beside them. Allura and everyone else turned startled looks on him, but he plowed ahead. “Hey, Allura, please, let me go with them,” he gasped. 

Allura fixed him with a doubtful look. “Lance, I don’t know-” 

“Please?” he gave her a pleading look. “Look, I’ve been here a long time. I know what I’m doing, and I’m good with people. I really wanna help, Allura. Please.” 

She gazed at him for another long, heart-stopping moment. 

Then she dropped her eyes with a sigh, relenting with a breathed out, “Okay.” Lance grinned broadly and hugged her excitedly as she dropped her head into her hands. “Thank you!” he crowed, almost bouncing with happiness. 

She pinned him with a fierce look as he and the other volunteers were about to step out the door. “Don’t mess it up,” she said. “Stay safe.” Then she gave him another hug and swept away with Coran down the hall. 

“Reassuring,” Lance grumbled as he and the other four stepped out into the night air but he couldn’t help the smile that crept back onto his face as they descended the stairs. He could barely believe it. She had actually let him go. He knew he liked her. 

He piled into someone’s SUV with the others, and then they were off. 

***

They went to the Manhattan precinct first. The officers who were going to Westchester were just about to leave, piling gear into the trunks of their cars to put on once they got to the other station. A few waved or nodded in greeting, but most seemed way too busy to acknowledge them. Lance found he didn’t care much, though normally he may have made a point to harass them a bit more. He was just so excited still. He didn’t want to risk pissing anybody off tonight. 

Besides, these guys had guns. It was like dealing with Allura. He’d toe the line to a certain extent, but he wasn’t gonna push it. 

He eyed the cop standing a few feet away from him with a taser in hand warily. 

The Man From The Stairs- that was now his name in Lance’s head- was talking to the receptionist and a few officers at the front desk. After a few minutes, he motioned the rest of the group outside. As they climbed back into the SUV, plastered with Second Chance bumper stickers, TMFTS- that was now his nickname in Lance’s head because the full name was a mouthful and it was annoying- explained that they were going to drive out to Westchester in their car so that they could take their own car to the raid as well. 

And so off they went yet again. 

***

If he had thought the Manhattan precinct had been busy, the Westchester office must have been about to explode. 

Maybe it wasn’t as chaotic as it seemed. Maybe it was just the fact that this building was smaller making it seem worse. But as Lance ducked flying gear every three seconds to avoid being knocked unconscious by a kevlar vest or pistol holster to the head, he found it hard to convince himself. 

It didn’t take everyone long to prepare once they had gotten to Westchester. The cops threw on gear and had a brief meeting in yet another too-small conference room, and then poured out of the building to flood the similarly too-small parking lot, dividing themselves into cars. Lance and the rest of the Second Chance people got into the SUV for the third time that night and joined the caravan pulling out of the lot. 

Westchester was quieter than the city, and the lulling mumble of the others’ voices around him made it easy to drift into his thoughts. He wasn’t really sure what to expect- the only experience he’d had with these sorts of situations were cop shows on TV, and though obviously that counted, he was worried. What if he screwed up? What if someone else did? What if there was no one there? What if there was someone there? His head was spinning around so much that he was glad for the distraction when they pulled up to the house a few minutes later. 

It was dilapidated and old, looking abandoned but for the shiny car in the driveway. It could have been a haunted house or the creepy old place in a horror flick. Lance got a shiver down his spine as he looked at it. 

Cop cars were pulling right onto the lawn as the driveway filled up, so TMFTS followed suit, driving straight over the curb and into the clearly neglected front yard. The five of them- whose names he still hadn’t learned- piled out of the SUV as policemen finished setting up floodlights pointed at the house. Several of the cars had been here for a few minutes already. A SWAT team was gathered in the yard, just in front of the door. 

The last of the cars had pulled up, the last of the cops piling out. As the rest of them came up the lawn, a man raised his hand and began shouting orders over all the other yells and noise already echoing down the street. Cops began disappearing around the sides of the house, guns out, while the SWAT team jogged up to the door. Lance glanced up and down the street with a bit of anxiety. His excitement had drained away. This… this was serious. Really, really serious. And it wasn’t exactly subtle, either. This was big. He saw lights turning on all up and down the block as the commotion woke people up in their houses. 

He was swept up with the crowd, toward the garage door. Another SWAT team was inspecting it as the first finally knocked down the front door and swept into the house. He could hear them calling to each other inside, and occasionally noted their voices crackling through the radios of people still outside, but he focused instead on the team at the garage door. They had given up on finding any sort of easy way to open it, and instead several had taken crowbars to the seam between the door and the concrete ground. One of them shouted a countdown from three, and before he knew it, Lance was watching as the door rolled up and away. 

The SWAT team stepped back, and Lance moved closer to get a better look inside. Piles of discarded junk were sitting all throughout the garage, which was empty of cars. His stomach was beginning to sink- there was nothing there- when his eyes caught on something. 

In the back corner, to Lance’s right. A boy, sitting curled into the dank concrete corner. He was squinting into the light, face impassive and gaze seeming a little distant. It took Lance a moment to realize his eyes were adjusting. There were no lights on inside. 

People had begun to notice the boy at about the same time as him. Hands were reaching out, instinctively it seemed, and Lance reached out too. There was something so, so heart wrenching about this. The boy curled into the corner, eyes finally registering their reaching hands as he adjusted to the light. There was an ache deep in Lance’s chest as he took a single step closer, reaching out. He wanted to help. All he wanted to do was help. He wanted it so much. So much. 

He kept waiting for the boy to stand up, to come to one of them, to take one of the many hands reaching out for him. 

He didn’t move. 

He didn’t look scared, or traumatized, or even surprised. He watched them apathetically, eyes tracking their movements but not shifting to make a single move of his own. 

Before he could overthink it, he started to walk forward slowly. He ignored the voices behind him hissing that he shouldn’t get close. He ignored the voice in his head warning him of the same thing. He ignored everything, focusing on this boy who maybe- maybe he didn’t know he could come out. Maybe he didn’t know who he could trust. Maybe he thought he was being tricked. 

Whatever the reason, Lance was determined, determined, to reach him and to help him, even if all he could do was offer his hand. 

He crept ever so slowly closer. The boy’s eyes were on him now, just him. They were just as expressionless as his face. He shuddered to think of what this boy had seen or been forced to endure over the years that would allow him to become so… blank. Practiced. That sort of erasure of any sort of feeling from the expression only came with years of learning or a lot of determination- usually both. 

“Come on,” Lance urged, nearly whispering. 

He continued a few more steps before the boy flinched back. He paused for a second, glancing over his shoulder. Others had moved forward, but they were frozen as the boy in the corner moved. They wouldn’t move again, he was sure. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Lance reassured, still moving, slow and steady toward the corner. He was going on his gut instinct, even though maybe a more reasonable human being would have given up a long time ago- or maybe not even started, but that was beside the point. 

Shouting broke out inside the house, and the boy’s head snapped to the right, toward the main part of the building. His eyes had narrowed, profile thrown into sharp relief by the floodlights. Lance could practically feel all the people assembled outside the garage flinching at the sudden movement, heard a few gasps come from behind him. He almost rolled his eyes. 

The shouting was moving through the house, and then out the front door. Lance didn’t turn his head, but he saw the boy in the corner moving his head to track the progress of the voices. Lance listened to the man they had under arrest screaming violent curses at the boy in the corner, whose expression didn’t change, with his hand still outstretched. He heard doors opening and closing, and then the shouting was muffled. As a car engine started and then disappeared down the street, he knew the man was gone. 

He kept on going. 

The boy’s eyes were skimming across the people assembled behind Lance, rapidly taking in everything around him. When his eyes flickered back to Lance’s outstretched hand, narrowing slightly, Lance just kept on inching forward. Keep going, keep going. 

So quickly Lance didn’t see him move, the boy had reached up to grip Lance’s forearm. 

He heard gasping and guns behind him, and he wanted to shout to the people behind him that it was alright, to stop, don’t scare him- but the boy just hauled himself to his feet. Lance tried to speak- “Hey, everything’s gonna be alright-” but the boy released his arm immediately, brushing by and striding confidently out of the garage, through the crowds- news vans and reps from other nonprofits had arrived at some point, apparently- and pulling open the door to a police cruiser, sliding in himself. 

Lance stared after him, stunned, in much the same gaping fashion as everyone else. He had been expecting something a little more… he didn’t know, maybe a hug for coming to save him? Maybe someone leading him to a car? Maybe… he didn’t know. Not… that, though. 

Shaking it off, he picked his way back out of the garage, dropping his eyes from the car the boy had disappeared into so he could navigate back out of the cluttered garage. 

He found the other people from Second Chance waiting on the front yard, in front of a few of the cop cars. 

The Man From The Stairs- their unofficial leader, apparently- grabbed Lance’s shoulders and shook him, launching into a long-winded lecture about how he could have been hurt, about how people who have been through the kind of trauma they predicted that boy had experienced were often unstable and unpredictable and could be very dangerous, blah blah blah. Lance was reminded slightly of Shiro’s big-brotherly lectures. 

But then TMFTS released him and shook his head, face morphing into something like incredulity. “But goddamn,” he said, much more quietly. “That was…” 

Lance nodded, face splitting into a small smile. “I know.” 

He asked them where they had been, and the four exchanged stories. Lance finally learned their names- TMFTS was actually Jeffrey- and made himself smile when he made them laugh. 

As they all piled back into the SUV, sometime in the early hours of the morning, Lance threw himself across the back seat and stared at the ceiling, running through the events of the night in his head as their murmuring voices lulled him back to calmness. Everything seemed to blur together a little bit in retrospect, a mess of dark uniforms and floodlights and way too many cars in one place. 

And a pale, callused hand wrapping around his wrist. 

Lance’s thoughts drifted all the way back to the city. 

***

Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge were waiting for him when he got back to Second Chance. Jeffrey headed upstairs to debrief Allura while Lance excitedly hugged his friends. His happiness had returned as soon as he had finished processing the hectic insanity of the night. 

He pulled himself up to sit on the same counter as before and asked, “You guy save me any cake, or did you dorks eat it all?” Hunk unwrapped the plastic wrap from a piece of cake on a plate in the fridge- they had come prepared- and handed it to Lance with a plastic fork. He dug in eagerly, relating the tale of the raid to them as the cake disappeared. 

When he was done, they were all sitting around looking at each other, somewhere between somber, shocked, and apparently sharing Lance’s pumped-up-ness. Pidge’s fingers were tapping triple time. It was like four machine guns firing over each other. Four very tiny machine guns. Ant machine guns. Chipmunk machine guns? 

“Wow,” Hunk finally said. “That’s… wow. Imagine being that kid.” Lance nodded, thoughtfully popping another bite of cake into his mouth. “I bet he’s been through a lot,” Shiro said, gazing introspectively at his prosthetic hand lying on the table. 

Lance looked over, to the window visible from here, looking out from the dining hall onto the street. Tapping his lip with his index finger, he broke the silence. 

“I wonder where he’ll end up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to all of you reading this, I appreciate all you guys so much! Hope you enjoyed this, sorry the bonus came so late!


	25. Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally just a ton of FLUFF! Both POVs but Lance's piece is pretty short (sorry I'll try to do more from his POV in the future) where Keith and Lance go stargazing and Keith meets Lance's minivan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know you have the most awesome best friend in the whole freaking universe when you can ask her absurd questions late at night and she gives you not one, not two, but three amazing answers (there's a piece in this chapter that's seriously almost a direct quote, see if you can guess what it is ;)). Thanks to KTB for being awesome and the best beta/best friend ever.

_You sprinkle stardust on my pillowcase_  
_It’s like a moonbeam brushed across my face_  
_Nights are good and that’s the way it should be_

 

Keith was sitting on the windowsill when there was a knock at the door that night. 

After he told them about getting sick, he had made it through the rest of the meal and even dessert with Lance and his friends, and their easy conversation had mostly calmed him down. He left pretty quickly after finishing his pie, but at least he had made progress. 

The windowsill hadn’t seemed quite so foreboding and lonely in the wake of the steps he’d taken at dinner that night, so he’d dropped down in his old spot and was surprised at how nice it felt. It was familiar, and he had missed the view, the feeling of almost being able to touch the vital energy of the city. Separated just by this thin screen. 

The building was dark and quiet all around him. It seemed, as far as he could tell, that everyone had either gone home or was asleep. 

Keith wasn’t really sure when he’d last slept. It wasn’t so much that he had decided not to as that he couldn’t. He would lie down just to find that his mind was so loud he couldn’t even keep his eyes closed long. When he did manage to sleep, he would wake gasping or screaming from nightmares with tears and sweat soaking his pillowcase after only an hour or two. In the last few days, he hadn’t really bothered to try much anymore. 

Dinner ended at nine and most people here went to bed soon after. The building had been asleep for something like an hour and a half now. He hadn’t thought even Allura and Coran would be around this late. Maybe it was one of the night staffers? 

He got up and opened the door. His eyes widened slightly when he saw Lance waiting on the other side of the door, smiling at Keith. 

“Hey!” Lance said at a loud whisper, so as to avoid waking up the entire floor- the walls here were thin. “Can I come in?” Keith nodded and opened the door wider, inviting Lance in. Lance wandered in, gazing around like he hadn’t been in Keith’s room several times before. 

“Not much has changed, huh?” Lance asked conversationally, turning back to Keith, who just shrugged. 

Lance’s eyes took on a sparkle all of a sudden. “Wanna get out of here?” he suggested mischievously, the subject change abrupt enough to cause whiplash. 

Keith stared blankly, unsure what was happening. 

Lance stopped to clarify, waving his hands wildly as he spoke. “You haven’t been outta here since the day you walked in, and before that you were just stuck inside all the time anyway. You’re always indoors, you know? And technically, there aren’t any actual rules about you having to stay here.” Lance paused, considering. “Well, none that I know of,” he amended. “Anyway, Allura and Coran never have to know. But anyway…” he paused again, and that impish glint came back into his eyes. “Wanna go outside?” 

***

Keith knew that, technically, he wasn’t doing anything wrong as he snuck down the stairs just behind Lance. But creeping quietly through hallways under the cover of darkness without telling a soul where they were going felt an awful lot like he was- and getting away with it. 

It was almost ten-thirty and, as Keith had thought, all the lights were off as they descended to the first floor. The dining hall looked big and cavernous and forlorn without the lights on and the teeming crowds. 

Lance paused and cast a smile back at Keith that seemed to shine in the darkness before he opened the doors. “You ready?” he whispered. Keith nodded, suddenly excited. It had been too long since he’d been outside. 

Lance pushed open the doors and stepped outside, holding the door for Keith. 

Keith stepped cautiously out onto the stoop, sucking in a deep breath of the sharp, cool night air. Slowly, he felt his face split into a smile as his head fell back. He almost wanted to shuck Lance’s jacket from his shoulders so he could feel the air on his bare arms, but he decided he was unwilling to part from the jacket, even for just a few seconds. 

He didn’t notice Lance watching him with a fond smile. 

When he looked back up again, Lance was standing next to a car parked at the curb. It was a silver minivan, older but clearly well taken care of. The back was plastered with too many stickers ranging across too many topics to count. Lance smiled when he saw Keith look and said, “This is my baby. Her name is Nicki, because her ass is poppin’ like Nicki Minaj. No food or drinks inside and if you hurt her I’ll cut you.” 

With that, he bounced around to the passenger door and pulled it open. 

Keith stared with his lips parted, unable to decide if Lance was being serious or not or to process exactly what he’d just heard. He couldn’t really focus on it, though, because he was _outside_. Finally, after weeks stuck indoors, inside looking out, trapped by glass or walls or even something as flimsy as a screen, he was outside. The city almost seemed to be pulsing with energy around him. He smiled again as Lance waved him over and he went, climbing into the passenger seat and nodding his thanks as Lance shut the door behind him. 

He leaned forward in his seat to look up at all the buildings soaring skyward around him, even as Lance came around and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Seat belt,” Lance instructed as he clicked his own into place and started the car. Keith leaned back in his seat with a soft huff and obeyed. With a satisfied nod, Lance pulled away from the curb. 

Both of them pretended to ignore the stares of pedestrians when Lance loudly scolded Keith for leaning too far out the window not three minutes later. 

***

They drove for hours, out of the lights of the city and out onto dark tree-lined roads where the darkness closed in at the edges of the light and the only brightness was the glow of Lance’s headlight and the full moon gleaming in the sky up above them. 

The radio was playing softly beneath Lance’s constant stream of chatter, keeping it from being too quiet. Keith rarely had to answer anything Lance said, which was fairly relieving; he didn’t feel overwhelmed, and it allowed him to take everything in better. It was almost hard to believe this was real, but he could feel his heart pounding in his chest when he looked over at Lance and he knew it wasn’t a dream. 

It was a little after one in the morning when Lance pulled the car to the side of the road. Smiling over at Keith as he unbuckled his seat belt, he said softly, “Come on,” seeming suddenly more surreal somehow. 

Keith obeyed. 

When his feet hit the ground, he walked around to the back of the car, where Lance was rooting around in the trunk. The other boy popped up a moment later with a triumphant, “Ha!” he held up a blanket to the moonlight and gazed at it with deep satisfaction before holding it out to Keith. “Can you hold this for a sec?” he asked, and Keith took it, hugging it to his chest. It smelled the same way Lance’s jacket did. 

When Lance straightened up again a moment later, he was holding a picnic basket. Keith’s eyes widened in surprise. Lance had put thought into this. He had gone all-out. 

Just for him. 

Shaking off his shock and trying to ignore the flood of warmth in his chest, Keith followed as Lance started into the woods at the side of the road. Casting one last glance at the van sitting forlornly at the edge of the trees, he turned to watch Lance as he forged on. 

They probably walked for just over a minute before the woods ahead became lighter. Ducking underneath a branch after Lance with the blanket cradled to his chest, he found himself in a clearing, at the base of a grassy hill. 

He stopped to gape at the moonlit beauty of the place. It was gorgeous, unreal. Something out of a story book or a fairy tale, not real life. The trees all around were thick with red and gold leaves, lining the edges of the small, emerald green hill that rose up in the middle. 

Lance, already climbing up, turned back to watch Keith gaping. “Come on,” he called back through the soft smile on his face. Keith started walking. 

When they reached the top of the hill, Lance took the blanket from Keith’s arms and spread it out on the ground, setting the picnic basket down on the ground above it. Then, with an unceremonious huff, he dropped down onto it, folding his lanky limbs in to his chest. 

Keith smiled slightly and sat down beside him, sneaking glances at the other boy through the hair falling into his eyes. 

Lance turned to him, and in his face Keith saw none of the usual over-dramatic, hyper enthusiasm that characterized his actions and appearance. This was a whole new side of Lance. One he felt immeasurably lucky to get to see. 

“So you wanna know why I brought you out here?” he asked, his voice a soft, lovely sound drifting through the night air. Keith nodded slowly, and Lance laid back on the blanket. 

Slowly, Keith followed suit, sensing it was what he was supposed to do. Lance’s looked angelic in the moonlight, his eyes gentle and glowing with wonder and moonlight. 

When Keith was on his back, Lance pointed toward the sky. “Look up,” he said softly. 

When Keith did, his breath caught. 

The stars spilled across the inky sky above, shining brightly. Their beauty stole his voice and took his breath away. There were more up there than he had ever seen, but it was more than that. He hadn’t seen stars since he was eleven years old. Tears sprang to his eyes as he stared up, unsure he’d ever be able to look away. 

“What do you think?” Lance asked, his voice still soft and so achingly perfect on this achingly perfect night. 

Somehow, Keith found his voice. “They’re amazing,” he whispered, and when he finally tore his eyes away from the sky, Lance’s soft, genuine smile was just as beautiful as the stars. 

“Thank you,” Keith said, and felt a tear slide down his cheek. 

Lance moved closer and reached over, wiping the tear from Keith’s face. Instead of moving away, Keith closed his eyes and leaned, ever so slightly, into Lance’s touch. 

Sucking in a shuddering breath, he felt Lance’s fingers brushing away more tears and realized he was crying. 

He opened his eyes to see Lance gazing at him with unspeakable tenderness, a soft, sad smile on his face. 

“Thank you,” Keith repeated, pulling away and falling back onto the blanket to look up at the stars again. 

He held his breath as the tears cleared from his vision, and then he saw the sky. 

***

(Lance)

Keith’s tears had dried, and he was still gazing up at the sky with wonder and something aching that made Lance want to hold him more than he could remember wanting almost anything. He was so beautiful, so perfect, lying on his back with his arms slightly out to the sides, pale skin and ebony hair glowing in the moonlight, his purple eyes turned skyward and sparkling with the reflection of the stars. He looked like an angel, more of heaven than earth. 

Lance could have stared at him forever, but after a few moments he looked up. The stars were truly gorgeous tonight; it was crystal clear, and he could see so, so many of them. 

After several long minutes of staring up at the stars together, nothing but the sounds of the quiet woods around them to break the comfortable silence they’d settled into, Lance sat up and reached back for the picnic basket. Keith looked over at him when he moved, and Lance felt his breath catch slightly at the weight of those curious, beautiful eyes on him. God, he was so screwed. 

“I brought sandwiches,” he said, voice piercing the night. “They’re not super fancy but they kept long enough to get out here and they should taste pretty good.” He shrugged, a little uncertain. He wasn’t sure if… maybe Keith just thought this all was stupid, or he didn’t want to be out here with Lance, or… 

When he looked over, the soft smile Keith was giving him made his heart melt in his chest. “Thank you,” Keith said again, reaching out to take the sandwich Lance offered. 

Lance pulled two bottles of lemonade out next, and bags of chips. Keith’s face lit up in a way Lance hadn’t seen before when he saw what Lance had set out. Keith let out a soft huff of laughter. “I haven’t been on a picnic in years,” he admitted. He looked up at the stars, and Lance’s heart ached at the open wonder on his face. “This is the best one I’ve ever had though,” he says softly. “I always loved the stars.” 

Lance didn’t know what to say to that, but he didn’t think he needed to say anything, not really. They ate in companionable silence, watching the stars, and Lance could feel himself falling, hard and fast, hopelessly far. 

***

At just before three in the morning, Lance tossed the scattered remains of their meal back into the picnic basket and picked up the blanket, folding it neatly. He smiled at Keith as he packed up their things, and Keith smiled back. He could never get enough of that smile. It had been so long before Keith let him, let any of them, see it, and he wanted to make up for all those missed smiles. 

That, and the surge of feelings in his chest when he saw that almost-timid smile was so hard to resist. 

Keith kept craning his head back to look at the stars as they headed back toward the trees. He didn’t stop until the sky had disappeared behind the canopy. 

When they made it back to the car, Lance stowed the blanket and the basket in the trunk and hopped into the driver’s seat. Keith was standing with his fingers wrapped around the door handle, still staring up at the stars. 

Lance came up to stand next to him. He didn’t touch the other boy- something told him Keith wasn’t quite ready for it yet, and he wasn’t going to push it- but he liked to think that Keith got some reassurance from his presence. 

Looking over to Lance, Keith gave him a small smile. “Thank you,” he said again, and got in the car. 

Smiling to himself, Lance walked around and climbed into the driver’s seat. 

This time, as they drove, Keith’s voice joined Lance’s as it filled the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this is one of the fluffier chapters of the fic and I'd love to hear feedback from you guys! Not super long but hopefully fairly enjoyable anyway. Please comment below and thank you all for reading!


	26. It's Not A Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty short bridge piece to fill some gaps, another chapter split between Lance and Keith POV. Lance gets cornered by Allura and Keith goes upstairs to think- because for some reason I write a lot of that in this fic. A little negative Allura for you because I suck. Anyway, enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, HUGE SHOUT-OUT TO ARTESVEIL. I got some art from them for the scene where Lance introduced Keith to his car and it was fucking awesome. Can't thank you enough, nor can I possibly express how much I love it. 
> 
> Second, there actually is some foreshadowing in this chapter... sort of. I'll let you figure that out yourselves as I continue the fic. 
> 
> Third, thank you to KTB for helping me with further developing the plot of this fic. Couldn't do it without you. 
> 
> Alright, so that's about it! Thank you all for reading, all the support (ALMOST 470 KUDOS?!) is blowing my mind, thank you all so much! Hope you enjoy the chapter, more up soon if I can manage it
> 
>  
> 
> Link for the art from ArtesVeil: 
> 
> https://artesveil.deviantart.com/art/Voltron-Klance-Fanfic-Fanart-Saints-and-Soldiers-702983750?ga_submit_new=10%3A1504668133&ga_type=edit&ga_changes=1&ga_recent=1

_This helps me to think all through the night_   
_Bright lights that won’t kill me now, won’t tell me how_

 

Lance parked Nicki at the curb once more and turned off the engine. 

Keith unbuckled his seat belt without a word and got out, listening to the faint chime behind him that the van made at his open door. He glanced up at the sky as the cold air rushed to hit his skin. He couldn’t see the stars through all the city lights, but knowing they were there- remembering the past hours with Lance- put a faint smile on his face anyway. 

He heard Lance get out behind him and shut his own door, locking the van behind them as they walked in easy silence up to the front door of the Second Chance building. 

Keith didn’t want to go inside. He knew that when he did, it would be over. He and Lance would part ways, and Keith would go to his room and fail to sleep, and when the sun rose again all the magic of the night would be gone. 

His steps didn’t falter even once. 

“What are you thinking about?” Lance’s voice broke through the oddly quiet bubble surrounding them. Somewhere, Keith could hear the sounds of the city, but somehow, the noise didn’t seem to touch them. It was still and quiet as Keith glanced up and met Lance’s blue eyes in surprise. 

He covered his surprise with a shrug- people rarely cared enough, or paid enough attention, to notice when he was so much as lost in thought. Of course, it probably had something to do with the years he’d spent hiding his every thought and emotion from any person he may have happened to run across. Still- it had caught him off guard. 

“Nothing important,” he said quietly. Lance gave him a long look, but thankfully let it drop. Keith was glad. He wasn’t quite sure how to- if he even could- if he even would- explain what he’d been thinking. Instead, he just watched as Lance turned those eyes- luminescent blue in the dim glow of the city- back up to the faded facade of Keith’s temporary home. 

It wasn’t permanent. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that, even as he got more and more comfortable, night by night, in his fourth-floor bedroom and his twice-daily meals with his new- his new friends. But he didn’t really want to think about that. Not yet. 

Lance took a key from his jeans pocket, waiting for the click of the lock before cautiously pushing the door open and leaning in, turning his head from side to side to check the surrounding hallways. 

“Coast is clear,” he whispered and ducked inside, finger guns held out in front of him as he whispered something about James Bond and flapped a hand for Keith to follow. Keith cocked his head slightly and watched him go with bemusement, but went. 

Lance walked him halfway up the staircase before stopping. “I should probably go,” he whispered. Keith could only vaguely make him out in the darkness, but he saw eyes glinting in the dimness. 

He tried to fight the drop of his stomach. Of course, it wasn’t like Lance could be with him all the time. He had a life of his own and things to do and responsibilities and needs and wants- not to mention that some people actually did sleep. Still, he couldn’t stop the wave of disappointment that enveloped him, no matter how hard he tried. 

He nodded reluctantly. He could just barely make out Lance’s lips curving upward as Lance said, “Okay. Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.” He flashed Keith another smile and turned to go. 

Keith opened his mouth to say something. His breath caught just short of forming words, but he saw Lance hesitate, turning back toward him. 

Before he could over think it, Keith threw his arms around Lance. The hug was brief, but tight, and the most contact Keith had made with anyone in years. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a second before letting go. 

He pulled away. “Thank you,” he said quietly, not meeting Lance’s eyes. “Good night.” 

He turned and made his way up the stairs, the phantom feel of Lance’s startled puff of breath still brushing against his neck. 

***

(Lance)

Lance stared after Keith as the other boy made his way up the stairs, shocked, his mouth hanging slightly open. He couldn’t seem to get it to shut. 

He stared up the stairs long after Keith had vanished into the eerie, frightening gloom of the upper floors at night. 

It took several minutes for his brain to come back online. When it did, his face split into a beaming grin so huge his cheeks ached. Keith had hugged him. Sure, it had been a short hug, but it had been tight and heartfelt and it was the first time Keith had touched Lance voluntarily and he still couldn’t stop smiling and somehow he already missed the feel of Keith’s arms wrapped tight around him, even though he’d only felt it once. 

He was still beaming as he turned and began to descend the stairs- only to freeze in his tracks, jumping nearly a foot in the air as his jaw fell open anew and his eyes practically popped out of his head. A startled breath leaked from his mouth, and he was sure he’d have done something louder had Allura not pinned him with a death glare from the bottom of the stairs. 

He descended slowly, like a little kid slinking back toward parents waiting not-so-patiently to scold him. Allura waited, a displeased expression on her face and her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes didn’t leave him at all, and he was starting to get seriously freaked out by the time he hit the floor again and stood in front of her, awaiting the lecture. 

It didn’t come, and he peeked upward cautiously. 

Allura was still watching him, but her tightly-crossed arms had loosened. He chose to take that as a good sign and uncurled a little more. 

“Lance,” Allura began softly, in a voice that was almost pleading. Not such a good sign. “I’m not going to yell at you for taking Keith outside. As poorly as it could have turned out, it seems to have done some good, and I’m sure he needed it. But…” 

She trailed off, and Lance flinched internally, waiting. 

“... but I don’t want you to get too attached to him.” 

Lance looked up sharply. That wasn’t what he had been expecting. 

“Allura, I’m not-” 

“Look, I know it can be hard to think about,” she sighed. “But the people who come here, who we help… they have serious baggage, serious issues. For all we can do for them, there’s so much more that we can’t, and Keith has seen worse than most. There’s no telling what kind of trauma he’s suffered over the years, or where he is mentally even now. Just because he’s been showing some signs of improvement doesn’t mean that the worst is over, or that it’s even come yet. There’s only so much we can do for him, and…” She pauses, like she doesn’t really want to say the next part. “Chances are good he’ll be gone soon anyway.” 

Lance flinched and tried to speak again. “Allura, look-” 

She held up a hand to stop him even as she began to speak again. “I know it’s hard,” she said again. “But most people here… they end up on the street, Lance. We’re not a permanent housing development. We’re a temporary place, and even if we weren’t, people often can’t stay here for long anyway. For people like those we host, it can be hard, trying to find a home or even a place to stay short-term. For some, it’s just hard to stay in one place. I worry that Keith will be one of those people. Besides…” 

She shakes her head. “As I said before, he’s been through a lot. We don’t really know what’s going on in his head, or even what really happened to him. All we know is that he has… he has serious issues, Lance. There’s…” he can tell she’s forcing herself to get the next words out. “There’s a reason we discourage relationships of an especially close nature with those we host. Be careful, Lance. Please. You have so much going for you, so much to do in life.” 

She shakes her head as she begins to walk away. 

“This… this is a deathwish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my schedule is about to get a lot more busy. Again. So I am going to try to stick to my 1-2 days posting schedule (haha cuz I've been so great about that right) but, even more than before, I can't promise anything. So sorry for the erratic posting and thank you all so, so much for sticking with me and giving me so much support. It means the world and I love you all <3 Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Leave comments with feedback, bonus requests, or anything else below, thanks so much!


	27. Saint Cecilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance has a conversation with Keith I guess? I don't know anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, okay so it's been a LONG time since I posted. Like, a L O N G time. Really sorry- apparently, I underestimated the ability of life to interrupt with my writing. I'm so sorry for the delay! 
> 
> Also- OVER 500 KUDOS, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!! When I've got the time and the resources, I'll try to do something special for it- maybe some sort of extended bonus chapter or something I don't even know anymore- if I can! You're all amazing, thank you so much!

_I know no matter what I say_  
_Days will come and go_  
_No matter what I say_  
_Nothing’s set in stone_  
_No matter what I say_  
_Days go by_

 

Keith crept into the dining hall cautiously, looking around the room covertly as he ducked through the doors and made his way to the food line, head down. 

He’d found the showers last night. When he couldn’t sleep, he’d taken to wandering the halls, exploring this building that he’d spent so much time in but seen so little of. He’d felt a little like a ghost, walking silently through darkened, empty halls, no one to see him or hear him but himself. All alone with the sound of his breathing. 

Sometime this morning, not too long before people started to get up, he’d discovered that the central bathrooms on each floor had several shower stalls each. The bathroom on the fourth floor had been empty, so he’d decided to take a shower. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. He’d been reluctant to put his old, filthy rags back on- he hadn’t gotten a new set of clothing since leaving the old house, and the clothes he had were ill-fitting and covered in grime- but he had nothing else, so with marked unhappiness, he’d put them back on, carefully pulling Lance’s jacket back on over top. 

His wet hair felt cool where it brushed across his forehead and the back of his neck, but Lance’s jacket was warm. He snuggled into it as someone opening the door to the street sent a burst of cold air through the room. He wondered what month it was as he absentmindedly counted the waffles in the serving container. 

After filling his plate, he turned and started, almost automatically, back toward what he had started to think of as their table. He glanced up to see them laughing. He turned his eyes to the floor again, inexplicably managing to curl into himself further. Somehow, washing off the dirt and grime of the last several weeks had made him more self-conscious than before. He didn’t really know how that all worked, but his automatic reaction seemed unfair. 

Sliding into his usual bench, he sat down without saying anything and dug into his waffles. He felt a set of eyes settle on him, then two. He wasn’t sure it was physically possible to hunch any further into himself. 

Suddenly, he felt a hand settle on his wet hair. He nearly jumped out of his skin, his plate bouncing an inch off the table as he scrambled away. 

When he looked up, wide-eyed, Pidge was still leaning across the table with her hand outstretched, utterly unabashed. “Did you find the showers?” she asked. The others all seemed torn between embarrassment and laughter. 

Keith nodded slowly, feeling akin to a deer caught in the headlights. 

Pidge finally subsided, allowing Keith to warily inch back to his normal seat. Shiro eyed his filthy clothes and said, “I’ll see what I can do about getting you some new clothes.” His attention was forced away soon after when Pidge snatched his coffee cup and half the strawberries from his plate, but Lance and Hunk were still talking. 

“Lance, you can’t do that! You’ll scare him away!” 

“But who doesn’t love facials?” 

“Lots of people!” 

“But it’ll be _fun_! We can have _spa night_! We can invite Shiro and Pidge and _Matt_ too!” 

“No!” 

“Yes!” 

“No!” 

“Yes!” 

“ _No_!” 

“Fine.” Lance subsided with a pout. 

Keith stared on perplexedly. When they noticed him staring, Hunk blushed and Lance just grinned. “Hey, if you want I can wash that jacket for you,” Lance offered. 

Once again, Keith found himself unable to do anything except stare. All this time he’d been waiting for the day Lance would take his jacket back, or… or whatever, and then this… 

After several moments of blank staring, Lance dropped his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, unless you’d rather just keep it?” he said, and Keith felt himself blush. “I’m fine,” he said, pulling the jacket tighter around himself. He knew it should probably get cleaned, but he wasn’t ready to let go of it yet. 

Lance turned back to his still-full plate, moving on. Keith was about to follow suit when he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye- a flash of white and pink. 

Keith looked over and found his eyes locked on Allura’s steady blue gaze. Her pale hair was pinned up, a few tendrils escaping to drift across the fabric of a pale-pink shirt. Her eyes bored shamelessly into his, entirely unabashed to have been caught watching him. 

The thought that she was okay with him knowing she was watching, combined with the look in her eyes- somewhere between wariness and disapproval and maybe a touch of concern- unsettled him more than he’d like to admit, even to himself. 

Their stare was broken when a teenager stopped to talk to Allura. Keith released a small sigh, trying to forget about the exchange and return his attention to the table, and his friends. He listened in as Pidge and Shiro battled over the coffee and strawberries and Hunk begged both of them to stop- “Please, what if one of you gets stabbed with a butter knife or burned by the coffee and oh my god what if one of you gets burned by the coffee guys it’s really hot it’ll hurt who knows how bad it’ll be and oh my _god_ what if one of you burns _me_ with the coffee that’ll hurt so bad I really hate burns burns are pretty much the worst and _guys please stop_ -” and Lance occasionally jumped in with a helpful comment like, “You know, Pidge, if you twist his arm like _that_ then- oh, there you go” or “Shiro, if you pin that arm and that leg she’ll have to give up either the coffee or the fruit because- nice!” 

Keith kept quiet but listened with a smile, vaguely wondering how he could make sure every morning was like this. 

***

They were all done eating when Keith noticed Lance acting strangely. While the others carried on a lively conversation debating the ethics of playing an elaborate prank on Matt- who was apparently very gullible- but instead of jumping in like he normally would, Lance was quiet, prodding at the remains of his breakfast with a fork. 

Hesitantly, Keith poked gently at Lance’s arm with one finger, quickly retracting his hand as Lance looked up. “Are you okay?” Keith asked quietly. Lance smiled. “Yep, just thinking,” he said easily. His smile faded, though, as he tilted his head and leaned back, looking at Keith consideringly. He thought he could see something behind Lance’s eyes, something considering and thoughtful and maybe a little anxious- but still, somehow, so energetic and so lively and so _Lance_. 

Lance stood up, grabbing his plate to take over to the trash cans. He waved for Keith to come with him, and Keith complied, still a little confused by Lance’s behavior. 

They moved back to the table, and Keith risked a glance backward. Everyone at their table was continuing on with their conversation, oblivious and happy, but Allura was watching him again. The unshakable negative intensity of her gaze put a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He turned away. 

When they sat back down at the table, Keith tried to focus on the conversation that Hunk, Shiro and Pidge were still carrying on, but he could feel Lance’s gaze on him, and it was distracting. He tried, he really did, to keep his gaze on the other three. He did.  
But then, he couldn’t do it anymore. He looked away from what, to anyone else, would likely have been so enthralling- in a ridiculous, confusing way, of course- that they could never have torn their eyes away, and he met Lance’s gaze. He couldn’t read the expression in them. It was unsettling; Lance was a very open person. Keith felt anxiety clutch at his chest as his frantic brain speculated as to _why_ , exactly, Lance was watching him so guardedly. 

Lance watched him for a moment longer before standing up. “Can I talk to you?” he said in a low voice. Keith nodded cautiously, watching Lance carefully and trying to read something, anything, from his face or his gestures. No luck. 

Lance walked calmly to a quiet nook at one of the exits. Keith followed, trying the whole time to swallow his nerves. 

***  
(Lance)

Lance withdrew into the nook, rocking back on his heels and chewing gently at his lip as he waited for Keith to get there. He knew he couldn’t do what Allura wanted. He couldn’t pull away from Keith. He wasn’t really sure why yet- he was a little scared, actually, to even begin to think about it- but he knew that he couldn’t do that, and that he could never accept Keith leaving. He’d find another way. He could do it. He _knew_ he could do it. 

Keith’s face had shut down, apathetic and blank the way it used to be. Lance felt a pang of guilt. The way he’d been staring at Keith all morning and the abruptness of his request to talk had probably set the other boy on edge. 

Keith slid into the small space across from Lance. Lance tried to think, doing his best to ignore their proximity. 

“Promise me you won’t leave,” he said as soon as Keith had drawn to a stop in front of him. He reached down, grabbing Keith’s shoulders and shaking him slightly as he spoke. He could feel the intensity burning in his eyes and across his face. 

Keith looked taken aback. “What?” he croaked out. Lance leaned in a little closer, earnest. “Promise me you won’t leave,” Lance repeated, voice urgent. “I know it’s hard for you to be here. And I know that maybe you’re not really having an easy time of it. But no matter what anybody says to you or what anybody does, don’t leave. You’ve got friends here. There are people who care about you. So just- just talk to us, okay? Don’t go.” 

Lance wrapped up his speech. Keith was staring at him, his face still slightly surprised from before but his eyes betraying the gears turning in his head as he tried to decode what Lance was saying. 

Finally, after several long moments of staring- Lance refused to look away from Keith’s deep purple eyes- Keith nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said softly. 

Lance nodded firmly. “Good,” he said, and turned to leave. “Come on,” he called back over his shoulder. “The others will start to wonder.” 

He couldn’t see Keith with his back turned, but he felt when the other boy jogged up behind him. Slowly, he smiled to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so in the interest of honesty, my posts will probably be more like once a week than every day or two now, and that's being pretty optimistic. School is throwing everything it possibly can at me, AND my laptop broke, so I'm borrowing one right now. I really wanted to thank everyone who's read this fic for all the support and the kudos and the comments- you guys are freaking amazing and I love you all (Seriously, 505 kudos?! How???). Thank you so much for your patience and [hopefully] not hating me for sucking about posting. Thank you all so much, please leave feedback, comments, etc. below!
> 
>  
> 
> Edit 10/23/17: Alright, so obviously I am a terrible human being, as it has been a whole month since I've updated. I am SO SORRY. School and life in general have decided they hate me, so I don't have much time anymore. I've also decided that this whole fic is in desperate need of editing. Copious amounts of editing. So this coming weekend, I'm hoping to get my laptop back- still broken as far as I know, which is great- and post a new chapter, and then... Well, then I'll basically rework the entire fic. It's going to be a long process but I hope you guys can stick with me, again, I'm so sorry that my updating sucks and thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has read and supported this fic!


	28. Breezeblocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Keith and Lance interaction in this chapter, sorry... Lance talks to Allura and Keith has a flashback/panic attack.
> 
> Little side note- super annoying, but the HTML thing doesn't like me, so I could literally only get one thing in the whole freaking chapter to italicize. I had so many words in italics... it was beautiful... so yeah, sorry about that. I've been fighting with it for like ten minutes now though and I'm tired, so I'll try and fix it again in the morning if I remember. Anyway, just a heads-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. So. I've been very, very behind on posting, obviously, because it's been almost a whole freaking month and a half. So I'm going to start off by saying that I am SO SORRY. I've been super busy and super stressed and I've had a lot to deal with, but I finally made time to write this chapter and get it up. Hopefully I'll be able to write a bit more often in the next several weeks/months, but once more... I can't make any promises.  
> Again, I am SO SORRY for the delay. Thank you so much for sticking with me this far, and holy crap, thank you all so much for all the kudos and comments. Seeing those honestly makes my day, even when it's been literal weeks since I've written. You are all amazing and I appreciate you so much. I hope you enjoy this chapter and that it makes up for my absence a little bit!

Please don’t go, please don’t go,  
I love you so, I love you so,  
Please break my heart

 

(Lance)

Shiro had managed to find Keith some new clothes. Two sets, in fact, so he could alternate wearing them and actually wash them every now and then. Lance had to admit he was relieved. As intrigued as he was by Keith, the lack of proper hygiene… skin care… decent clothing… it had all been killing Lance inside, just a little bit. 

Keith had showed up this morning to breakfast in his new clothes- a dark gray t-shirt and plain black jeans- looking almost laid-back, at least compared to normal. His hair was wet again from the showers, and he seemed much more comfortable in what he was wearing than he had in the rags he’d been stuck with before. He still wore Lance’s jacket over his t-shirt, though. 

Lance didn’t even try to fight the ridiculous burst of joy in his chest when he noticed. 

He didn’t quite remember how breakfast had gone after that- he remembered jumping to his feet upon Keith’s approach, and an excited stream of probably-incoherent babbling spilling from his lips as he met Keith and walked with him the rest of the way back to the table, something about the new clothes and how Keith was on his way to being a full-fledged emo, and some hair product Lance had probably mentioned sneaking in for him. It was all kind of blurry now through the haze of his exhaustion. 

He was sitting in Allura’s office, in one of the almost-comfortable chairs facing her desk. Pidge was slumped in a corner, hunched over her computer. Someone had given her coffee, but neither him nor Allura had objected upon seeing the dark circles and puffiness ringing her eyes. She was as subdued as they were, peering blearily at the screen with earbuds in and blasting music loud enough for him to hear halfway across the room. 

Allura shuffled through another stack of paperwork. Technically, she had asked him and Pidge to help her out with some logistical reconfigurations- which was why they were both there at _two in the freaking morning _, jesus, how would he make time for his _beauty sleep _\- but as she looked up at him again, he got the feeling that there was something else she wanted to talk about. Even exhausted and disheveled, with hair falling from her usually tidy bun and a coffee stain on her blouse, Allura was gorgeous. Lance was almost able to get distracted by the shiny thing in the room- that being her eyes- oh, there was a good line in there somewhere-____

____“Lance,” Allura said quietly, as if afraid of being overheard, even though Pidge’s music was still blasting and she hadn’t looked up in forty-five minutes and, as far as Lance could tell, everyone sane had already left._ _ _ _

____He looked up, nervously shuffling the papers that were spread across his lap. He had a feeling he knew what this was about, and he didn’t really want to talk about…_ _ _ _

____“Did you think about what I said?” she asked. He opened his mouth- to stall, to ask her what she was talking about, to flirt, something, anything- but she cut him off, clarifying, “About Keith?”_ _ _ _

____Lance sighed and deflated, but gave it one last try. “Are you a magician?” he offered. She gave him a look and started, “Lance-”_ _ _ _

____He didn’t let her finish. “Because when I look at you everyone else disappears,” he concluded with a wink and his trademark smirk. Both the grin and his finger guns were wilting and sad with his exhaustion. God, he was a mess tonight. He really needed that _freaking _beauty sleep, but instead he was… wait, what were they even doing again?___ _ _ _

______“This is why I need my sleep,” he muttered under his breath. Allura gave him a look somewhere between baffled and incredulous and stuttered, “What? Lance- W- No, okay, no. I know what you’re doing, and even though I’m tired and I needed more coffee three hours ago-” she sighed a resigned kind of sigh as she looked forlornly at her empty mug- “you’re not getting out of this. I know it’s not pleasant- the opposite, actually- but this is a conversation we need to have. I’m worried, Lance. I care about you very much, and I want to ensure that you aren’t hurt by whatever outcome this whole situation has.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______At that, Lance leaned forward a little, intrigued. That phrase- “this whole situation”- could easily be used to describe all the things he already knew, the issues Allura had with his- dare he think it?- ever-strengthening relationship with Keith. But there was something in her voice that told him it was more than that._ _ _ _ _ _

______“What’s going on, Allura?” he said, cocking his head and looking at her curiously. The intent-blue-eyes thing usually worked on people, but then, Allura wasn’t most people. If it came to it, he could always just bombard her with pickup lines until she had to tell him. Actually, that sounded a lot more entertaining than what they were doing now. He almost hoped she would be difficult about it._ _ _ _ _ _

______Both fortunately and unfortunately, she was not, most likely due to sleep deprivation and lack of caffeine. She heaved a sigh, shoulders hunching in fractionally like a weight had been dropped on her back. “The police have been trying to get me to bring Keith in to give a statement. They want him to testify against his captor.” Lance’s eyes widened slightly. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about that until now. Of course, it only made sense- he kicked himself internally for not coming to that conclusion sooner- but…_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Don’t you think he’s a little… um,” Lance said, searching for a way to put it delicately, “... stressed out, for that?” Allura nodded in weary agreement, reaching for her coffee mug before remembering it was empty and dropping her hand with a frustrated sigh. “He really is, Lance,” she said, tugging at one of the silky tendrils of snow-white hair that had fallen from her bun. “Very much so. I’m not sure he’s stable enough to get involved with all that again, because I can’t imagine he’s been doing much to deal with it on his own. Nobody has given him the tools to cope with what he’s been through. The fact of it is, we’re understaffed. We barely had the resources for the crowds we were bringing in six months ago, and the numbers just keep going up, but our staff hasn’t been growing like our demand. For as much as Keith needs our counselors, they’re really already undertaking dozens more cases than they had wanted to. I’ve been contacting other organizations, but many are struggling with the same issues. This line of work doesn’t pay very well, and living in a place like this…” Allura sighed. “Sadly, the benefits of a job that pays well are worth more to most people than the more personal reward of working a fulfilling but low-paying job. It’s just a fact of life. But-” she shook her head. “I’m getting off topic. The point is, you’re right, Keith really _isn’t _ready for something like that- not even for a statement, much less for a testimony. But they’ve been on my back, more and more with every passing day. I don’t want to push him, but I fear I’ll have no choice very soon,” she finished with a sigh.___ _ _ _ _ _

________Lance sat back in his chair, trying to process. He had known they were understaffed- it was pretty common knowledge- but _dozens _of cases? He talked to a lot of people at meal times, less so now that Keith was around, but he still knew a lot of people, and he knew that a lot of the people who stayed here or were involved in this community couldn’t get in to see counselors working for Second Chance because they were just too busy. And now Allura wanted him and Pidge to help reconfigure… maybe things were worse than he thought.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Allura sighed again and ran a hand over her hair, bringing his attention back to the conversation at hand. “And of course there’s the issue of our time limit,” she muttered, eyes closed and strain in the tense lines of her face. She was so stressed out. Coran did what he could to help her run the place, but ultimately, a lot of the hard decisions and a lot of the work came down to her. Lance felt a sharp pang of sympathy. He’d bring her a giant cup of coffee next time he saw her. “Keith can only stay here for so long,” she said. “I’d hate to have to ask him to leave, because there’s really nowhere I can send him, and I think he needs a place like this, at minimum, even though ideally he’d get better treatment and a better environment, even a home…” she trailed off, gazing thoughtfully at the door as her eyes lost focus. Zoning out. Tired. They all were._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Her gaze cleared and she shook her head, sad, weary eyes meeting Lance’s. “I worry that he needs a lot more help than we can give him,” she said, her voice pained. He knew how it hurt her to be unable to help people she cared about, and he knew that even she had, in the last weeks, formed an attachment to Keith to some extent. That sympathy hit again. He’d bring her so much coffee. And a warm blanket to curl up in. And some lotion, the kind that’s supposed to help with stress…_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“We can try,” Lance finally said, trying to be the optimist for her. He could tell that right now she really, really needed it. When she shook her head a little, looking hopeless, he leaned forward, training his eyes intently on hers. “Hey,” he said, letting that confident lilt seep back into his voice. “It’ll work out. You’re great at what you do, and even though we’re understaffed, the staff we do have are amazing. Keith is strong. We can work through this. Remember, you’ve got me and Shiro and Pidge and Hunk and-” he broke off, laughing a little, “and even Matt to lean on, and of course Coran. You’ve got a whole team here, Allura. We can do it.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________When she finally looked up and met his eyes, she offered a smile that was markedly less hopeless than before. “You’re right, Lance,” she said. “Thank you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He grinned and winked back. “Any time, beautiful,” he said, and she rolled her eyes with a smile, and then they returned to their work and comfortable silence._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________***  
(Keith)_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The blank walls around him had melted away, and now he was back- back there, inside those four stained, cold concrete walls, staring blankly up at that dim, flickering fluorescent that had always seemed like a sick, sad metaphor for himself- dirty, half broken, and barely clinging to life when it would really be so much easier just to let go. The old dog bed underneath him was ragged and worn thin and did nothing to disguise the unforgiving hardness of the freezing concrete floor beneath them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He heard an alarm clock wailing somewhere inside the house, and tried to wiggle his fingers and toes. They were stiff and blue-tinged; the garage didn’t have a heating system and at night it sometimes got colder than even outside did. His limbs were sore with aching wounds and exhaustion and with the frost that had settled into his bones. He tensed in anticipation, and seconds later, there it was:_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“BOY!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Keith winced at the sound drilling into his ears, shattering the peaceful silence of the early morning. He staggered to his feet, working his way around the piles of junk as quickly as he could. He was staggering a bit, walking in a zombie-like fashion because he could barely feel his feet and his legs were still aching dully. He hit his foot on something and felt blood drip over his toes. He was glad for it, though, because the pain woke his foot up somewhat, making it slightly easier to walk. He hoped vaguely through the fog of exhaustion in his brain (he hadn’t been able to sleep in two nights and the tiredness was catching up to him) that whatever he had cut himself on wouldn’t give him an infection or a disease. He’d try to clean it later, if he had the time._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________By the time he made it to the master bedroom- a cluttered, dusty space that he always wrinkled his nose upon entering because the musty smell hit like a wall- the man was already up, hobbling around his room on his bad leg. He wore only a pair of shorts, no shirt. Keith felt the familiar swell of abhorrence and shame and pain that accompanied his every glimpse of his master._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The man whirled on Keith as he entered, face screwed up in rage. “Get your lazy ass up here faster next time, you worthless fuck!” he snarled, landing a punch on Keith’s aw that felt like a freight train slamming into his face. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t fall, but he staggered several feet back, slamming into the door. Pain exploded in his lower back where it had hit the doorknob, and he knew instantly that he would have a nasty bruise._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“I want eggs this morning,” the man grunted as he continued searching for suitable clothing. Like nothing had happened. Keith eyed him warily, keeping far away, as the man stripped off his shorts in favor of tan slacks. “Clean up the first floor. It’s a pig stye.” The old bastard practically sniffed in disdain. He pulled on his shirt, rummaging through a drawer to find socks._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He turned, seeming mildly surprised to find Keith still standing at the door. “You’re still here?” the man asked. Almost instantly, his face contorted in anger once more, and he stormed toward Keith. He was wearing only one sock, the other dangling limply from his hand. It should have been comical. For some reason, though, he couldn’t even begin to find it funny- certainly not once the man landed another punch on his jaw, this one even stronger than the last. This time, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but crumple to the ground. Three swift kicks were delivered to his abdomen, and he felt something crack. A rib, maybe two or three. He wasn’t sure. It hurt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Get up,” the man barked, grabbing the back of Keith’s shirt and hauling him up before shoving him out the door and toward the stairs- like grabbing a dog by the scruff of its collar and tossing it outside._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“I want those eggs scrambled, remember,” the man called after him as Keith limped carefully down the stairs. “And that first floor better be spotless by lunch!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Keith made it to the kitchen before remembering his foot and glancing down. He first registered the arm he had wrapped protectively around his ribcage- he didn’t remember putting it there. His chest hurt, every breath sending another stab of pain through his ribs. He ignored this, and the throbbing in his jaw, and glanced down. There was a two-inch cut on his foot, deeper than he’d thought. His entire foot was smeared with blood- blood he’d have to clean off the stairs and floors he’d been walking on later. He slumped against the counter, wincing as its edge dug into the bruise on his back. Releasing a sigh, he straightened back up and set about making breakfast. Unfortunately, he was sure that this morning’s events wouldn’t be the worst he would see today._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The walls of the old house faded away and Keith was back in the room at Second Chance, but everything felt wrong. The scene was blurry, and it was hard to breathe. His jaw, his back, his foot, his ribs, were throbbing, even though the logical part of his brain- shoved to the side in the screaming, wailing, convoluted, catastrophic mess that was his head at the moment- was trying to explain to him that those injuries occurred- occurred years ago, he was, what, fifteen? fifteen, fifteen fourteen thirteen twelve eleven, he had been there for one two three four years and after that he was there for one, two years, fifteen sixteen seventeen, and somehow his breathing was coming even faster now, in out in out one two one two one two three four five six seven eight way too fast way too fast and somewhere he knew he needed to _calm down _but he couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t _breathe _-_____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Black crowds out his vision, and suddenly days upon days of being unable to sleep all fade away as the choice to sleep is taken away from him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, well today I covered most of what I wanted to say in the beginning notes, but I just wanted to mention that I've been considering an every-other-Saturday posting schedule. It's not decided or even a little bit concrete yet, but it's an idea I'm toying with (I know, I know, how hard is it to decide on a posting schedule, but clearly I'm really bad at it so cut me a little slack okay). I also wanted to reiterate how much I really freaking love you all. The amount of positive feedback this work has gotten has honestly blown me away. I can't communicate how happy it makes me to see the comments and kudos and even just views that I get. You are all truly amazing and I really appreciate that you have stuck with me this far, through angst and (occasional) fluff and through irregular posting and crappy writing and all the other shit I've made you deal with. Really, just thank you all so much. Hope you liked the chapter :)


	29. End Transmission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet more angsty Keith introspection because I suck and also I'm tired and my brain is too fried to write anything else (the week before holiday sucks guys).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. So. I suck. I am so, so sorry that it's taken me so long to post. I said biweekly and I totally failed. (I feel like I've said this before. I probably have, because I suck. I am so freaking sorry.) I hope that you like this chapter and... yeah. I get a break for the holidays starting on Thursday of this week so hopefully I'll get some writing done over that time and post a few chapters, as well as get some more on this fic done ahead of time so I'll have material to post even when I can't write new chapters (fingers crossed, no promises). If somehow, miraculously, you were waiting for more of this fic or just of my writing (it's a long shot but idk just in case) I have posted two (ANGSTY) shorter fics- one is a one-shot and the other is a two-shot but only sort of because the second chapter is an alt. ending and idk- anyway, those are up, so drop by to read them if you get a chance. Again, I'm so sorry that I suck at posting and I hope you like the chapter.

Pull the top down, use your knees to drive  
I’ll make it worth your while, just let me taste the sky   
You pressed your mouth on mine and fed me a star  
And said we never can truly know who we are

 

Keith leaned his head against the cold windowpane, gazing listlessly at the twinkling lights and the hulking dark shapes of buildings outside. The sky was inky black, the sun having fled hours ago, but through the smog and pollution- the price of so much life in one place- he couldn’t see any stars. He thought of the billions of stars he could see against the velvet sky the night that Lance took him out to the countryside- of that night- with yearning. He wanted to be there again, just the sky and the grass and the cool breeze and Lance. 

It was funny how the world seemed to be shrinking. There had been those weeks in between- he had been saved, he was making friends, and the world was somehow expanding so rapidly within the walls of this run-down old building that he was sure the walls- or he himself- would collapse. 

Now… he had new clothes, clothes that weren’t grimy, shredded rags. He had a bed, a window. The halls and other rooms were filled with the breathing and voices and lives of other people. There was a city outside the window, teeming with people and activity. His counting had decreased, nearly ceased to exist, because he knew the person next to him wouldn’t stop breathing, new that he himself wouldn’t stop breathing- wouldn’t suddenly choke to death on stale air, caught between shrinking walls. 

But suddenly it was like it was all gone. The world was pressing in on him again. Half the time he could not distinguish between the walls of his new, barren room and the stained concrete walls of his old, cluttered prison. White paint turned to browned cement and suddenly he was fourteen again, crouched cold and alone in an undersized dog bed and listening to alcohol-driven ragings just beyond the frail wooden door. His head was filling with numbers, overflowing with the cracks in the ceiling, the cars on the street, the ever-growing tally of how many different voices he could hear in this building when he listened. 

He wanted the sky. He wanted to get out. He wanted fresh air. He wanted to leave. 

And tonight- just tonight- what he wanted more than anything was to sleep forever. 

The world seemed so twisted and cruel and pointless. He had tasted hope, only to have it torn from him. The world had briefly expanded, only to constrict brutally around him again. He was free of his old master- but he wasn’t, not really, because that house, that godforsaken house full of ghosts and anger and fear and the smell of whiskey, was following him, transforming the walls of the room he was in to the walls that knew his sweat and his blood and his pain, walls that he never wanted to see again but that would not release him no matter how he struggled. He had found people he cared for, but now he could hardly picture their faces, because always, always, they were quickly replaced by the old man’s, contorted in drunken rage or in the agonies of decades gone by. They were replaced by the haunted faces in pictures thrown face-down into the heaps of garbage overflowing from the garage. They were replaced by his own face, robotic and inhuman in its apathy. 

He never slept anymore, hardly able to get to sleep and woken soon thereafter by screaming nightmares when he did. There had been a few times now when he had woken up, but could not move, weighed down by lead in his chest and limbs as the old man broke like a hurricane around him, and the old house came crashing down over his head. 

The weight that he had gained sloughed off him as the days passed, quickly enough that Allura came to see him, asked him questions from a list that had a title with the words “counseling” and “evaluation.” Hunk and Pidge shot him concerned looks over their breakfasts as his food sat untouched on the table before him. Shiro and Lance asked a little too frequently how he was doing. 

He kept going to breakfast, and to dinner. He forced himself out of his room every day to take a shower, to cycle his meager clothing supply through washes. He sipped halfheartedly at water bottles when the thought occurred to him. He kept himself going. He wasn’t really sure why. 

It was only when blue eyes and tousled brown hair appeared at his door that he had some idea of the reason. 

Lance played at dramatic, at extroverted and loud and perhaps even irrational, but he was observant and intelligent. He noticed things. He noticed when Keith was only pretending to eat. He noticed when the circles under Keith’s eyes became more pronounced. He noticed when Keith’s voice was slightly rough from screaming. He noticed the subtle ticking of Keith’s fingers as he counted his way through the kernels of corn on his plate. He noticed, but he had yet to ask anything more than “How are you?” 

Keith wasn’t sure if that was good or not. 

Lance had told him not to leave, had told him to stay with Second Chance, to know that his friends were here for him. So he hadn’t. He stayed in this room where the walls shrank with every passing day. 

Keith stayed. For him.


	30. Bullets With Butterfly Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um... some stuff happens. I'm too lazy to write a full chapter summary right now, ask again later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So seeing as I'm too lazy for a chapter summary, I'm also too lazy for many notes, but I really wanted to thank all my readers, the people who commented last chapter especially. The things you guys said were incredibly nice and really made my entire day. I appreciate you all so much and I'm so glad you've stuck with me this far :) Thanks for reading!

Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage  
And someone will say what is lost can never be saved

 

Keith showed up to breakfast that morning with a limp. 

He knew he looked like hell. When he had gone to take a shower, he had seen puffy eyes ringed with dark circles staring back at him from the mirror. His skin was pale and splotched with dark bruises, which he had been waking up with for a few days now. His skin, if possible, was even paler than usual, and his hair was a mess, because while he may have committed to washing it, he rarely had the energy to brush it. 

The limp had appeared when he woke up. He hadn’t yet been able to figure out why, but he thought he might have hurt it sleepwalking. He had been waking up in the strangest places- stairwells, mostly, but the kitchens and bathrooms every now and then. 

Conversation at the table quieted as he approached, and four sets of eyes- failing utterly at hiding their concern- turned up to him, shadowed eyes staring at him as he sat down. 

Lance was the first to break the heavy silence. “Hey, buddy!” he said with a painfully forced smile. “How’s it going?” Keith shrugged, chewing on a piece of his pancake unenthusiastically. He was still eating, because he had to, but food seemed bland and pointless. There was little pleasure in coming to mealtimes for the actual meals anymore; the relief, though, that was brought by the noise and distraction- and by seeing his friends- was certainly worth leaving the relative safety- the cage- of his room. Seeing Lance, especially, helped him. He didn’t know why, but that kind smile, those blue eyes, always seemed to make everything better. 

Seeing him eat seemed to relax them a little. He knew he had lost weight. He couldn’t help it; his appetite had shrunken in the last few weeks, and without meaning to, he’d been eating less. He knew they were worried, but he didn’t know how to fix it. Though he appreciated their concern… he would carry on. He always had before and he would continue to do so now. It hurt, but for him, life had always hurt. At least now, he had something to cling onto. People who meant something. He didn’t want them to worry. He would make it through. 

He looked to Lance, who was laughing now at something Hunk had said while Keith wasn’t listening. 

Yes, to see those eyes smiling another day, he would make it through. 

 

(Lance)

Keith was eating, even smiling faintly as the group chattered on around him. His smile was duller, somehow, than it was before, but he was still smiling, chapped lips upturned, haunted dark eyes brightening slightly. 

Lance felt an ache in his chest as his eyes tracked over Keith’s ravaged face. He had been doing well, for the circumstances- talking, laughing, making friends, leaving his goddamn door unlocked. But lately he was eating less, losing weight, clearly not sleeping, and his voice… it was shredded, like he’d been screaming himself hoarse every day and night. It hurt to see it- hurt because he could remember, just a few weeks ago, violet eyes shining with starlight and laughter filling the cool night sky… 

The stars in those eyes were gone now. 

But he was still eating. He was still talking, coming to meals. He was making an effort. Naturally, all of them could see something wrong… but what could they do? 

Lance sighed internally. He wished he knew how to help. The truth was, for all of his insecurities, for all the conversations he’d had with people in situations a thousand times worse than his own, he had never dealt with something like this before, and certainly never from someone as stubborn and hard-headed as Keith. He had no idea how to handle it or how to help. His first impulse might have been to go to a counselor, or to Allura… but how could he, when the counselors were so insanely busy and Allura could just as easily kick Keith out as help him? There were no options. So he and the rest were just watching as Keith wasted away. 

Lance had the nearly irresistible urge to scream. Or kick a wall. Or both. Yeah, definitely both. 

He was eyeing the nearest wall speculatively when the sound of whispering caught his ear. 

Pidge was leaning toward Shiro. “Should we talk to Matt?” she was asking. “He’s been talking about that psychology grad student he knows. Maybe he could get that guy to come down, talk to Keith. It couldn’t really hurt, could it?” Shiro shot a quick glance at Keith, shaking his head slightly and murmuring back, “It could, though, that’s the thing. Siccing some over-eager grad student on him- or even a trained counselor, like the ones we have here- could freak him out and make it worse. Right now he’s eating. He’s taking showers, he’s coming to meals, he’s still talking to us. Those are good things. We don’t want to risk him backsliding on the miniscule chance that talking to some brand of psychologist might help.” 

Lance looked over at Keith. Hunk was keeping him occupied talking about his various food blogs (Hunk had six), and Keith was laughing as Hunk regaled him with tales of his massively successful first attempt at making a strawberry trifle. As far as Lance could tell, Keith was paying no attention to Pidge and Shiro. 

His stomach was sinking lower and lower. Pidge and Shiro were right. No matter what they did, Keith was balanced on the tip of a knife, and he could fall at any time. Lance had no idea how he could fix that, how any of them could fix it or even do anything to help. Counseling was highly likely to make it worse. Asking him about it was highly likely to make it worse. Leaving him alone and letting him work it out was highly likely to make it worse. They were completely, utterly, and hopelessly fucking stuck, and Lance hated it. He hated this helplessness, he hated watching his friend disintegrate right in front of him, he hated all of it. 

He ran a hand agitatedly through his hair, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. This was so impossible, this whole situation. Allura was worried about having to kick Keith out. If Keith was unstable, he needed counseling. All their counselors were booked. 

All the institutions in the city like Second Chance were as packed as this one. The streets were just as packed with the homeless and the floating orphans and the broken and the disheartened. 

Keith needed counseling. All the counselors were booked. Counseling might push him over the edge. Even his friends couldn’t serve as makeshift counselors, for fear of causing a meltdown. 

There were no options. None. There was just nothing for him to do. “Nothing’s impossible, mijo,” his mama was always saying. But even though she was always swearing that she was never wrong, she must have been, because this? This was im-freaking-possible. 

Lance took another deep breath. He didn’t know how to fix this. 

Maybe… what if Allura was right? What if there was nothing they could do for him? What if they just had to… give up? 

Lance shook himself violently. They couldn’t just give up on Keith. He refused to- 

But… 

Lance squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so conflicted, so worried, in his life. 

His eyes flitted open again. Shiro and Pidge had abandoned their conversation from before, and were now laughing over a group chat with Matt. Keith and Hunk were still talking, laughing over kitchen mishaps- most of which had occurred when the Holt siblings were around. He was alone in his silent dilemma, and life was racing along outside of him. Keith was even smiling, though his eyes were still dark. 

Lance sighed and excused himself from the table. He needed to make a call. 

 

(Keith)

Breakfast had been all but cheerful. Hunk’s cooking stories were surprisingly entertaining, and Pidge and Shiro had pulled a prank on Matt- Pidge’s brother and Shiro’s boyfriend that he had yet to meet- and showed him and Hunk the ensuing conversation, which had caused Hunk to come very close to choking to death on his crepes (which were exceptional, of course, as they had been made by Hunk himself). The only negative was that Lance had left earlier than usual. He had hoped that Lance would stay. His nightmares had been awful the night before. He had wanted to talk to Lance. It made him feel better somehow. 

He was looking forward to dinner. The day had been, like all the days of the last several weeks, a distasteful combination of boring and painful as he fought back flashes of nightmares and hallucinations from previous nights. He lived in fear, now, that he would suddenly be overcome by hallucinations or flashbacks and be stuck back in that awful house. It hadn’t happened often during the day, but he knew that it would probably get worse. Things always seemed to. 

It was a massive relief when six o’clock rolled around. He darted down the stairs ahead of the crowds and served himself hurriedly before scurrying back to the table. 

Shiro and Hunk were already there, making polite conversation about the roast chicken, which Hunk had apparently stepped in to help make when the other kitchen staff had been caught “doing it wrong.” Keith dropped his tray with a smack and dropped into his seat after it, shoving a bite of cornbread into his mouth to reassure them before allowing himself to be looped into the conversation. 

Pidge and Lance joined them shortly afterward, Pidge with some small robotics project or another cradled on a second tray- and which clearly took precedence over her food, which she proceeded to ignore- and Lance with a grin and a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a neat bow. He ignored all inquiries as to its contents and sat down instead, making polite conversation over his food. 

Keith finally allowed himself to relax for the first time with breakfast. He felt a little safer here, at a table with his friends, with Lance. There was still nagging fear at the back of his mind, but it was easier to tell it to shut up when he could see the smiling faces of his friends all around him. 

The food was good, though that was probably because Hunk had intervened to an extraordinary extent in the kitchen, or so they were told. They ate until they were stuffed- with the exception of Pidge, who was still ignoring her food in favor of her tiny scraps of metal and wiring- and of Keith, who was only pretending. No matter how much he wanted them not to worry, he still couldn’t bring himself to eat much. 

As the clock ticked closer to nine, Lance cleared his throat and waited for everyone to turn their attention to him. When they all turned to him, he rubbed the back of his neck nervously and said, “Hey, guys, so… I wanted to let you know that I’m gonna be gone for a week or two. I’m gonna go down to Cuba, visit some family, do some surfing, some thinking, you know. Get out of the city, clear my head.” He chuckled, a little nervously. “I’m sure the surfing will be better than it is at Montauk, anyway…” he said. 

There was silence for a moment, and then Hunk broke into a grin. “Hey, buddy, that’s a great idea. Bring me back some more recipes from your aunt, huh? She’s amazing.” Lance smiled back, a little gratefully, it seemed. “Sure thing, pal. I’ll mine her for everything she’s got.” Everyone broke into grins, and the air eased as Lance’s nerves seemed to drain away. 

They were all talking now, laughing, asking Lance excitedly about his upcoming trip. But Keith… Keith was thunderstruck. 

Lance was the main thing keeping him going. His other friends all meant so much to him, but he knew deep down that Lance was the biggest help. How could he keep… how could he continue on if he didn’t get to see that smile, those sparkling blue eyes, every day? How could he keep fighting off the nightmares, keep forcing himself to eat? 

When the others turned to him, he smiled. He was good at pretending. He knew this. It was familiar, easy. He knew this. 

Lance pulled him aside after dinner, as Shiro, Pidge and Hunk said their goodbyes and the dining hall emptied. 

He held up the brown paper package, which Keith had forgotten about in the wake of his inner turmoil. His curiosity sparked again, but somehow, it was already duller. 

Lance grinned a little, offering it out. “Here,” he said. “It’s for you.” 

Keith took it cautiously, looking at Lance as he pulled the string apart and tore the paper open. The other boy was humming a vaguely familiar tune under his breath. 

Keith glanced down when his fingers brushed across something smooth. As he ripped the rest of the paper away, he looked down to see something red and white. He held it up, letting it drop open. 

It was a red leather jacket, striped with red and yellow. Keith’s breathing stopped. 

Lance was giving him a slightly bashful smile now, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I don’t know. My sister likes to make clothes, wants to be a fashion designer. She didn’t have any use for this, but when I saw it I thought of you. Do you like it?” 

A little breathless, Keith nodded. No one had ever given him something like this before, ever been so thoughtful for him… He couldn’t even speak. 

“I…” he started. “I… wow. I love it.” He looked up from where he’d been staring, mesmerized, at the jacket still clutched in his hands. “Thank you, Lance,” he said softly, voice caressing the words as all the tension he’d been feeling drained away. Soft blue eyes gazed back at him, and Keith felt something come over him, fill his chest, something warm and wonderful that he never wanted to go away. 

Lance smiled back. “You’re welcome, Keith.” 

Then Lance laughed a little. “But, um, can I have my jacket back now? I mean, like, it looks really great on you, and I can let you borrow it again sometime, but if I show up in Cuba without it my relatives will either think the world is ending or that the real Lance has been abducted by aliens and I’m a fake sent to deceive them.” 

Keith blushed at the compliment buried within Lance’s rambling and smiled a little as he shrugged the jacket off. “Of course,” he replied, clutching his new jacket to his chest. It smelled a little like Lance, just like the old one. “Sorry for keeping it so long.” 

Lance grinned. “No problem. Like I said, you looked cute.” Then he winked and loped away, hurrying to Hunk’s side to get a ride home with him. 

Keith stood there for several minutes afterward, blushing furiously and grinning like an idiot, before he turned and headed back upstairs. 

***

 

The night after Lance left was the night the terrors truly began.


	31. The Leaving Song (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... Lance is on vacation... and... angsty Keith ensues, naturally. Because pain. Because why not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short chapter, but I'll post the next one probably within the next few days, so hopefully this will tide you over. Again, I just wanted to thank all of my readers and commenters! I'm at almost 700 kudos now, which is absolutely unbelievable to me. You are all the absolute best and I appreciate you so much! Thanks for reading!

All the cracks, they lead right to me  
And all the cracks, they crawl right through me…  
And I fell apart

 

Keith had known he’d been balanced on the tip of a knife. 

Already he had found himself paralyzed sometimes at night, never having fallen asleep and yet heavy as a stone and unable to move as crystalline images and echoing words flashed by. Already he had found his mind wandering, counting one two three four when the noise was suddenly too loud and the people were suddenly too close. 

He had known, but he had ignored it, because Lance was there and Lance made everything better. 

And now Lance was gone. He was alone, and all those moments of peace that he had stolen floated away as the ominous grays and oppressing shadows of his past came at him full-force once again. 

Sleep, in the rare hours when he managed to find it, lay waiting riddled with land mines and steel traps. He would wake up screaming his throat raw, often unable to move no matter how he struggled- limbs rendered useless and immobile, unresponsive to his desire to stand and run, out of the room and down the hall and outside and far away, to where the nightmares couldn’t get him anymore. 

Wakefulness was much the same. 

Shiro, Pidge, Allura, Hunk, even Coran- they all came to see him. He had stopped going to meals two days after Lance left, unable to stomach the thought of a hall filled with noise and humanity. Food, too, was unappealing. He stayed in his room instead, as guilt at him alive. 

He was worthless. He brought nothing but pain on the people he had foolishly come to care about. He was worse than useless. He didn’t deserve to be alive. He didn’t deserve their time, their compassion, their food. He deserved nothing more than to lay here in silence, accompanied by only the ghosts of his past. He deserved less. He should still be in that garage, raped and beaten and defeated. 

He did not even deserve to die and escape. 

Shiro brought him earbuds and an iPod on the fourth day, with a plate of food. He ate a few bites and ignored the rest. Shiro’s concern was obvious, but he did not say anything as he wordlessly pressed play and handed the earbuds to Keith. 

Keith had let himself be swallowed by music for a day and a half. He ignored Pidge and Hunk when they came to see him, and Allura. When the iPod died, his hand remained loosely wrapped around it, and the earbuds stayed in. 

When next he saw anyone, it was Pidge standing in his doorway, face shadowed as he bolted awake, screaming his head off. There was a plate in one hand, and a ragged quilt in the other. Streetlights were on outside. Neither one of them moved for several moments- Keith’s chest heaved as he panted, his skin slick with sweat and eyes crusted with drying tears, his body aching with the remembrance of past pains, and Pidge with her lips pressed tightly together, an emotion Keith had never seen before written on her face- and their eyes remained locked in silent understanding. 

Pidge walked into the room silently, leaving the door into the dark hallway outside open behind her. She set the plate on the nightstand, but did not coax him to eat. Instead, she wordlessly handed him a water bottle. He took it, drinking half of it in one go, and then set it on the nightstand. 

With a light pressure on his shoulder, she urged him to lay back down. He did, and she spread the old quilt- soft, worn, comforting- over him. Then she reached out and pried Shiro’s iPod from his fingers, replacing it with her own. 

Tucking Shiro’s iPod into her pocket, she turned and left as silently as she came. 

And so it went as the days grew shorter and the stars outside fell away into darkness.


	32. Silver and Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance gets back from Cuba, and what he finds waiting for him is... well, it's bad and angsty and and exactly the opposite of pleasant. 
> 
> TW: mentions of past abuse/rape, implied suicidal thoughts?? sort of???, not eating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyyyy so Happy New Year I'm a little late but I got it within a few hours so we're gonna say that this is a New Year's present anyway.   
> Basically, I just wanted to thank all my readers again for being awesome, you guys are the best and I'm really thankful to have you. Your comments make my day, and the fact that I am somehow at 700 FREAKING KUDOS???? is blowing my mind. You're all wonderful humans and I'm really glad you all took the time to read this mess.   
> So! This Christmas, I was given an AMAZING gift. Somebody I know who is an artist drew me a title card for this fic, and it is absolutely BEAUTIFUL. I'm going to link it here so you can all (hopefully) enjoy it as much as I have (which is a fucking LOT, I'm a soulless monster who can't cry but if I cried more I would have cried): 
> 
> https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B-WyJQg5MOw0aHJmcFpmV25QeS1MTVVPNnAyVHdxQzlTbnRv/view?usp=sharing
> 
> (Sorry for the weird method of sharing it with you all?? I am bad with technology so if anybody has advice or, idk, uncensored criticism, will accept in comments below)  
> (I also apologize for the crappy picture, my camera at the time was AWFUL.)
> 
> Anyway, I just wanted to thank the artist who created the title card again, you're wonderful and that was an amazing gift, and I wanted to reiterate how thankful I am for my readers, you're all great. Happy New Year, hope you enjoy the chapter!

Cold in life’s throes, I’ll fall asleep for you  
Cold in life’s throes, I only ask you turn away

 

(Lance)

    Lance walked through his front door with a sigh, letting his suitcase fall to the ground with a light thud. He could hear his father snoring somewhere in the apartment and one of his siblings talking in their sleep. A slight, tired smile spread across his face. He loved Cuba, but he had missed his family. 

    His thoughts went then to his second family, probably asleep in bed right now. Hunk, Shiro, Pidge- Keith. He had missed them as much as he had missed his parents and his siblings, but he had needed to time to clear his head. It had been good for him. 

    To that end, he had left his phone here. It was sitting on the kitchen counter, just as he’d left it. He rubbed the back of his neck as he stared at it, glinting dully in the moonlight that came through the window. He felt a little guilty for not bringing it, but he wasn’t sure he would have been able to find any peace in Cuba if he had taken it with him. 

    He thought longingly of his bed, but his legs protested at just the thought of taking him all the way back to his room. He trudged toward the- much closer- couch instead, grabbing his phone as he went. His flight had been long and only landed an hour ago, and it was already two in the morning. He was tired, but he wanted to talk to Hunk, or Shiro, or anyone, really. He had really, really missed them. 

    A vague image of messy ebony hair and haunted amethyst eyes floated to the forefront of his mind. He pushed it away. Hunk, Shiro. 

    Keith. 

    He tried the power button on his phone, once, then twice, and then a helpless third time. Useless. It was dead. He sighed. His charger was in his duffel bag, which was still by the front door- so far away. 

    It was okay. He could make it until morning… 

    He settled in, curling in on himself to sleep. He’d just maybe rest his eyes for a few minutes. Just, like, half an hour. Then he could get up and plug his phone in and check in on everybody… 

    He was nearly asleep when he heard pounding at the door. 

    His eyes flew open. It was two-thirty in the morning. The only people he could think of who would- 

    “Lance!” he heard a familiar voice whisper-yelling in the hall. 

    He shot to his feet, undoing the locks and yanking the door open with a huge grin. Hunk was- 

    Hunk was standing in the hallway with his hands on his knees, panting. Sweat dripped down his face, and worry pervaded his dark eyes. 

    Lance’s smile dropped. “Hunk, what’s-” 

    His friend didn’t let him finish. “You need to come to Second Chance as soon as possible,” he told Lance. 

    Cold fear instantly saturated Lance’s chest, his blood, dreading the next words from Hunk’s mouth. 

    “It’s Keith.” 

 

(Keith)

    “Please, Keith,” Allura had begged, only a few hours ago. She had been nearly crying. He felt bad, somewhere at his core, but didn’t have enough energy to do anything about it. “If you don’t eat something soon we’ll have to commit you. It’s the law. Please, please, just one bite, Keith. Please.” 

    He hadn’t moved except for to blink and to breathe. Eventually, she had left, not even bothering to leave the plate behind anymore. None of them had in several days. 

    It had been days since he’d left his bed. Shiro, Pidge, Hunk, Allura and Coran kept coming to visit him. Twice they’d sent one of the fabled counselors to speak to him. They’d been met with the same concrete wall of silence as the others. If he wouldn’t talk to the only people in the world he actually cared for, why would he talk to them? He didn’t suppose that had ever occurred to them. 

    Perhaps, two weeks ago, the idea of being institutionalized would have been frightening. Now, he couldn’t care less. The only difference from this would be that perhaps the place would be a little quieter, and there would be a needle in his arm keeping him alive even when he didn’t want to be. 

    Pidge came to his room every night to switch out his iPod. It was the music that was keeping him alive now, he was sure, more than the water that Shiro coaxed down his throat everyday, more than Hunk sitting on the edge of his bed and awkwardly trying to reassure him and persuade him to eat. 

    Lance felt, somehow, like a dream when Keith was like this. He hadn’t let himself sleep in days, because the nightmares were already bad enough when he was awake. He was delirious, he was sure, and weak from lack of food. He was self-destructing, but he had done nothing more than embrace it. He didn’t care anymore. He was ready to be done. He had fought for a long time- seventeen years was a long time. He was ready to stop fighting. 

    One, two, three, a thousand raindrops on the glass pane of his window as the city fell deeper into the heart of its starless night. 

    The music had died hours ago, and now he could hear footsteps and voices in the hall. It was too late at night for that many- twenty-nine, thirty-seven, forty-two, then nothing- too late at night for that many footsteps. One, two, three, four, five whispering voices. Then silence. 

    Keith returned his eyes to the window. Whoever it was, he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. 

    Four, five, six knocks at the door. Silence. Then it swung open. 

    The silence was broken by a breaking voice. “Keith?” 

 

(Lance)

    Something had happened to his Keith in the weeks that he had been gone. 

    When he left, Keith was laughing. He was taking showers, he was eating, he was sleeping a little. He was breaking, but he wasn’t… 

    The Keith laying in the bed before him now was empty and shattered. His skin was paler than Lance had ever seen it, practically transparent in the moonlight. Bones protruded harshly against his pale skin, looking as though they would tear through it. Bruises in shades of black and purple patched across his skin- from malnutrition and panic during hallucinations, according to Allura. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed his lack of rest. He lay limply in the bed, face staring listlessly, unseeingly, toward the window. 

    Lance choked down a sob. He was still wearing the jacket that Lance had given him. 

    An iPod sat loosely in the grasp of one hand, white earbuds resting in Keith’s ears. Lance approached slowly, like when he first found the haunted boy in the garage. 

    He sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out and gently tugging the earbuds from the other boy’s ears. “Keith,” he murmured, voice breaking. “Keith, hey, can you hear me?” 

    Keith didn’t look at him, and Lance swallowed back more tears. 

    “Hey,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I was gone. I wish I could have been here for you. It’ll be okay, you know that?” 

    He reached out, softly stroking Keith’s dark hair. 

    Slowly, violet eyes turned to him. He choked, couldn’t breathe. Tears filled his eyes as that gaze, so tired and so broken, landed on his. This... was the most beautiful and the most heartbreaking thing he had ever seen. 

    “Hey,” Lance whispered, trying to force a smile through his tears. It didn’t work very well. “You’re even pretty when you haven’t slept or eaten or showered in days, Mullet, how’s that work, huh?” he asked, searching for a hint of mirth, a hint of teasing, a hint of outrage, a hint of anything, of life, in those eyes. It didn’t come. 

    “I’m sorry,” Lance whispered again as a tear slipped down his cheek. 

 

(Keith)

    Lance was crying, and Keith wanted it to stop. Lance hadn’t done anything wrong. Lance had done nothing wrong. Lance was beautiful, was almost perfect- perfectly imperfect, imperfectly perfect. Keith wanted him to stop crying. 

    Slowly, and still without speaking, he reached up, wiping the tears from the other boy’s cheeks. Lance simply bowed his head and cried harder. 

    “Can you- sleep? For me?” Lance whispered, body still shaking with his quiet sobs. 

    Keith reached up, wiping away Lance’s tears as they fell. Lance was beautiful. Lance was his angel. Lance still wouldn’t stop crying. 

    Keith shifted back, toward the other side of the bed. Lance tensed with shock and almost stopped crying when Keith’s hands touched his waist, silently urging him to lay down. 

    Keith wrapped his arm around Lance’s waist, holding him closely. He smelled familiar and comforting, and he was so warm. 

    “Go to sleep for me,” Lance whispered, and though his voice shook, his body was no longer wracked with sobs. “Please, go to sleep for me.” 

    With his arm still around Lance’s waist and their fingers entwined, Keith shut his eyes. 

    He went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to remind you all that, if you feel like it or if you just feel like it's necessary, I'm open to constructive criticism (please don't kill me) in the comments, so feel free to tell me that people are out of character or whatever the hell you feel like needs work (this is unedited so I totally understand that there are gonna be some screw-ups). Again, for like the sixtieth time this chapter, thanks to all of you, you're great and I really appreciate you. Hope you liked the chapter!


	33. Too Shy To Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really just more Keith introspection. Super short, sorry! I'm super tired, but I've been inspired lately, so hopefully I'll be able to post again in the next few days. Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> (TW: mentions of past abuse, not eating)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super short chapter, super tired, but like I mentioned in the chapter summary, I'm hoping to post again in the next few days. Thank you all for reading, hope you like it!

I am everywhere,  
Everywhere but here. 

 

    It was Pidge who finally coaxed him to eat, the day after Lance got back. 

    She brought a charged iPod back. He still had not gotten out of bed, or spoken a word. But she came back anyway. Though she no longer brought food or water with her when she came, her silent, grim persistence somehow showed more strongly that she would not give up on him. He appreciated it, but wished that she wouldn’t waste her passion on someone so useless and undeserving as him. 

    “I brought you some food,” she whispered as she busied her hands switching out the dead iPod for the charged one. No one seemed to speak louder than a whisper within these walls anymore. “It’s nothing special. Just a granola bar. But…” 

    She hesitated. “Look, Keith,” she said, and with some shock, he noticed that there was genuine pain in the lines of her face. She cared about his well-being, more than she had let on, and he had had no clue… 

    He supposed he had assumed that his attachment to his friends was rather one-sided. He knew they harbored some affection for him, but the devotion he had developed… it had never occurred to him that perhaps, in some quiet way he had not seen, it was being returned. 

    So, not for himself, not for fear of institutionalization, not for Lance, he silently accepted the granola bar. The sudden, shocked smile on her face confirmed what he had thought- that without him realizing it, Shiro, Hunk, Pidge and Lance had grown quite attached to him too. 

    He took the food for Pidge, and as she sat there switching out the iPods, he unwrapped it and ate. 

    Before she left she gave him a brief hug, which he hesitantly returned. 

    He stared at the door for a long time after her departure. 

    After that, he supposed that Pidge had told the others that he had eaten. She must have, or Allura would have had him institutionalized- through no fault of her own, he supposed, but still. He had not eaten anything more in the few days that followed, but it must have been enough. Gradually, his visitors began to bring food with them again, though he never touched it. 

    He could not bring himself to even pretend that he was making progress, though it pained him to take away the hope he had seen blossoming in Pidge’s eyes when he ate the granola bar. He found his mind, still, torn between the past and the present, between here and there and everywhere. He could still hear the old man’s voice echoing sharply in his ears, feel the ache of past abuses. He still could not sleep for fear of what waited for them. He still could not stand to be awake for all the hallucinations that skirted his vision at any given moment. 

    He had hoped- and the others had thought, too, it seemed- that Lance’s return would make things better. That he would be some catch-all solution, somehow fixing what had been broken. Instead, he simply became another of the cherished faces floating intermittently through his vision as he travelled through bleary days of endless, haunted consciousness. 

    This, he supposed, was something he would have to fix himself. He couldn’t rely on anyone to do it for him. Then again, what was new? 

    The issue lay in the fact that he had no idea where to begin, or if he even wanted to. It would be so much easier to stay here until he succumbed to this monochrome hell of stale sheets and heavy air in a are room. He didn’t have much to live for anyway. 

    Except… 

    Faces flashed before his mind’s eye. Except, somehow, he had acquired friends, people who cared about him- a family of sorts. He couldn’t do that to them. 

    So for them, he supposed, he had to make an effort. 

    And he would. 

    That night, Keith sat up in bed and slowly, shakily climbed to his feet, trudging across the room to lean against the window, feet planted firmly against the hardwood. 

    He looked up to the moon shining above him, and the two of them stared at each other forlornly until his friends found him there in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm thinking this is probably gonna mark something of an uphill for Keith (I know I pulled that before but I think it'll stick for a lot longer this time :') ). It'll be a long and slow uphill battle but... honestly, if you've read this far I don't think you'd be expecting anything less of me. Anyway, thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, leave comments/kudos/criticism/hate letters/whatever you want down below!
> 
> Also, quick thing, I used to do bonus chapters but when my posting schedule was derailed I stopped. I was wondering if you guys would like to see another bonus chapter (I have almost 400 comments, over 700 kudos, almost 100 bookmarks, and over 9k hits, you guys could basically demand anything at this point) and if so what kind of thing you'd like to read? If you guys show some interest in the comments (pls I need feedback) I'll post a couple of topic ideas in the notes next chapter. Thanks so much!


	34. Cat and Mouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance hears some news from Allura and stress ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I am alive, I know, shocking, wow, amazing, incredible, cannot believe, woah. 
> 
> Anyway, yeah, so I'm sorry for vanishing for a month and a half? School, life, stress, things. Basically, I have a lot of bad excuses, but seeing as I've already used all of them repeatedly, I won't subject you to it again. Anyway, yeah, so, here's a short-ish poorly-written chapter, if you still read after my extended absence I will be shocked and grateful, so sorry for being bad at life/posting, thank you for being awesome and [hopefully] not hating me, you guys are the best! Hope you like it!

You said, you said that you would die for me…   
You must live for me too… 

 

(Lance) 

Keith was propped listlessly against the wall, forearms resting on his knees as he twisted his fingers around each other. They hadn’t persuaded him down to the dining hall yet, but at least they had gotten him to eat today- some rice and a few slices of an apple. Not much, but at least it was a start. It was better than the last several weeks, anyway. 

They had gotten him to wander the halls with them- aimless and totally without purpose, but at least he was out and moving. It had actually been going well- Keith looking up more and more from his bare feet against the wood floors to give them brief almost-smiles- before Allura intercepted them. With one of her piercing stares, she had given the clearly non-negotiable order to follow her to her office. Exchanging glances, they had followed. Keith didn’t look up. 

Shiro had been inside for fifteen minutes already. Lance had begun to chew on his nails out of nervousness- old habit- only to have his hands slapped away from his mouth by Pidge, repeatedly and not very gently. Pouting at her, he relented, dropping them to his sides. Jerking her chin toward Keith, she hissed under her breath, “Don’t make him nervous.” Glancing over at Keith, Lance started to nod. 

They all froze as Keith said, “I can hear you, you know. No need for kid gloves. He can chew his nails if he wants to.” 

Lance turned around slowly. Keith’s voice was crackly and harsh from disuse, but that was the largest number of words he’d strung together in, well, weeks. He was almost afraid to scare Keith off- like he was an illusion, made of smoke or light, that would disintegrate if Lance moved too quickly or reached out to touch it. 

Pidge recovered first, huffing irritably. “Well then he shouldn’t chew them because it’s a bad habit.” Despite her gruff, irascible tone, she couldn’t disguise the glimmer of happiness in her eyes. Lance knew that, for all she acted at being unshakeable, she’d grown to care a lot about Keith- enough that the struggle of the last few weeks had been hurting her nearly as badly as it had Lance. She hadn’t quite been able to hide the defeated slump of her shoulders, or the bleak look in her eyes. Just like she hadn’t been able to hide her smile when Keith agreed to leave his room. She was softer than she let on. 

Keith didn’t look up, but the sudden silence was broken by the sound of the door opening. Shiro exited, looking carefully blank. It set Lance instantly on edge. The only times Shiro wore that expression were the times when he didn’t want to alarm anyone. It had the opposite of its intended effect; Hunk and Pidge had picked up on it too, he could tell. The tension filling the air was palpable as Allura crooked a finger at Lance, silently ordering him into the office as Shiro left it. 

He went reluctantly, casting a “help me” glance back at the others. Pidge shrugged helplessly as Hunk mouthed “good luck.” Allura closed the door on their image. 

“What’s up?” Lance asked to break the silence as she found her way back to her chair, trying to sound nonchalant. His voice was too tight and squeaky for that, but he was hoping she would ignore that. 

No such luck. “Sit down, Lance,” she said tiredly. “And try to stay calm.” 

He didn’t like the sound of that, even a little bit. His nerves frayed just that small bit further as he sank slowly into a chair- as if by moving at a snail’s pace, he could delay the inevitable. 

She let the silence stretch for several moments. He wondered briefly if she was doing it on purpose, building the suspense, letting the anxiety accumulate, but she wouldn’t be that cruel. She wasn’t like that. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. “Just rip off the band-aid,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut tight like someone was actually pulling adhesive from his skin. His hand jerked spastically as he did, miming the motion, as if she didn’t know what it was. 

He held his breath as she inhaled to speak. He knew, somehow- maybe from Shiro’s expression, or maybe from the pit in his stomach, he couldn’t be sure- that he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. 

“They set a court date for Keith’s kidnapper.” 

Oh… no. Not this, anything but what he thought she was about to say, anything but that… 

“Keith will be expected to testify against him two months from now. We’ve been given two weeks to tell him, or matters will be taken out of our hands.” 

Lance opened his eyes, and the abrasive fluorescent lights assaulting his vision were comparable to the anxiety now plaguing his psyche. 

Allura shut her eyes as he opened his. “If we don’t do as they ask, Keith may be taken out of our hands too.” 

Lance felt his eyes widen, but found he couldn’t speak. It was as if his vocal cords had been severed, and he was left breathless and silent- insubstantial and inconsequential, like a ghost, useless to stop or even help all that was happening around him. Trapped in the eye of the hurricane, no matter how he fought to throw himself back into the storm. 

They sat there in silence for minutes or years, until it broke. 

Lance’s chair scraped against the floor as he pushed it back, standing. Wordlessly, he turned and made to leave. 

At the door, he paused. The grain of the wooden door was smooth and natural- soothing, weirdly. He stared at it as he spoke. 

“Keith is not leaving.” His voice was firm, more resolute than it had been since he was seven and insisting to his unimpressed older sister that chupacabra were real. “We’re not going to let him.” 

With that, he opened the door and swept from the office, closing the door on Allura’s silence. 

Shiro, Pidge and Hunk were clustered a little way down the hall, speaking in hushed tones. They stopped when he entered the hall. Pidge silently gestured for him to join them. 

Lance glanced to Keith, on the other side of the door. He was silent, and didn’t appear to have looked up from the floor at all, but he was clearly listening. Despite his inattentive posture, Lance had learned to tell when Keith was listening, and he almost always was. There was a chance he already knew everything. A pang went through Lance’s chest as he thought about how Keith was going to be forced to continue reliving his past, even as he began to make an effort to get better. 

Trying to push the pang away, he ignored Pidge’s wordless request and went to crouch down in front of Keith instead. 

This time, Keith did look up. Dark, liquid violet eyes met Lance’s. He felt like he could fall into them, drown in their gleaming, inquisitive depths. Keith was beautiful, and for a second, Lance was so overwhelmed by the urge to reach out and touch his cheek that he couldn’t breathe. 

Regaining himself, he urged a small, encouraging smile onto his face. “Hey, Keith,” Lance said. “Remember how I said I’d do anything for the people I love?” 

Keith nodded slowly, and Lance could almost see the memory of that night in the other boy’s eyes, that night so many weeks ago when he had talked until the sun rose, when he had seen Keith begin to warm to the possibility of trusting someone again. 

Lance nodded affirmatively in return. “Well, I’m gonna hold myself to that promise. But now, I need you to do something for me too.” He searched Keith’s eyes briefly, still unable to read what was hiding there, despite all the weeks they’d known each other now. “Can you do that?” 

Keith held his gaze, and for a moment, he could swear they were both breathless, lost in the way their eyes locked together and oblivious to anything. 

Without looking away, Keith nodded. 

Lance smiled and stood, offering his hand. 

With the world swimming in his violet eyes, Keith took it and stood. 

“Good,” Lance said, nearly whispering. Turning to face the other boy, he said, “Here’s what I need you to do.” 

Keith watched him, and though he didn’t move or speak, Lance knew that he was waiting. 

Ignoring the other three, who were watching them now, Lance said, “You know what Allura said?” 

Keith nodded, eyes still unreadable. 

Lance nodded in return. “Good. Well, what I need you to do is simple.” He paused, meeting Keith’s eye once more. “I need you to live.” 

The words were cryptic. He could have been asking Keith not to kill himself, could have been asking him not to self-destruct. He could have been asking him so many things. 

But somehow, he knew that Keith understood. Understood that he wasn’t just asking him to keep his heart beating- he was asking him to keep trying, keep trying to get better, even if it seemed that they never would, even if these next few weeks might be worse, even if, even if, even if, no matter what. For all the things that he couldn’t read- and would never be able to- in those unfathomable eyes, he knew that Keith understood this. 

Slowly, Keith nodded. 

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEVEN HUNDRED EIGHTY KUDOS. 
> 
> FOUR HUNDRED THIRTY-SIX COMMENTS. 
> 
> ONE HUNDRED TWELVE BOOKMARKS. 
> 
> Did I ever mention that you guys are the best?   
> I never would have predicted how much support I would get on this fic, and I just wanted to thank you all again. It's so, so amazing to me that I've gotten so many kudos and comments. Every time I read a comment from you guys it makes my day, and seeing this many kudos just... wow. It's incredible, thank you all so, so much.


	35. Everlong (BONUS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter of Shatt fluff because I love you guys and you're all too nice to me and also because Shatt is great but mostly because I love you all and you've given me over a hundred bookmarks and over eight hundred kudos and almost five hundred comments and it's amazing and I'm so incredibly thankful to have readers like you guys :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So season 5 was an adventure huh

And I wonder  
When I sing along with you  
If everything could ever feel this real forever  
If anything could ever be this good again

 

(Shiro) 

Shiro lay on his back with his head pillowed on his arms, staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t gotten out of bed yet, even though it was almost seven-thirty and he probably should have been up by now. He was just so, so tired. He couldn’t seem to make his legs- or any part of him, for that matter- to move. He’d been staring at the blank ceiling for an hour already. 

Matt had rolled out of bed half an hour ago. Shiro was much colder in his absence; Matt usually curled against him while they slept, an arm around his waist, head nestled against Shiro’s chest. He missed him, even though he knew that Matt was just in the living room, probably reading. 

Keith had hardly shown any improvement in weeks. It had been heartbreaking and exhausting and somehow incredibly painful to see the younger boy like that; he hadn’t realized just how much he had grown to care for Keith until it had become impossible to get him to eat, to sleep, to do anything at all. 

Finally, Keith was starting to get better. He’d left his room last night, he’d eaten a few things, he’d even spoken to them a couple of times. For some reason, though, Shiro was still so tired. Keith’s progress was nearly as exhausting as Keith’s stagnancy, but he didn’t know why. It was like it was draining him to see the effort the other boy was expending. 

He knew that the reason Keith was fighting to get better wasn’t for Keith himself. He had recognized the dim spark in the other boy’s eyes- Keith was trying to get better for them, for Shiro and Lance and Pidge and Hunk, and maybe even Allura. He was doing it for them. Maybe that was why Shiro was so tired- the sympathy, and the guilt. He knew, firsthand, how much easier it would have been for Keith to give up. He could have stayed in that bed and wasted away to nothing, and it might have hurt, it might have been a horrible last few weeks, but in its own way, it would have been easy. The path that he had chosen instead- to fight, to battle the demons lurking in the depths of his head and the dark corners of his room, to make the effort to get better, even when all he wanted to do was lay down and give up- it was exhausting, and draining, and so, so fucking hard. Shiro’s chest ached with remembering, and with the knowledge of what Keith would go through in the next few months- with what he’d already been through. 

He was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t hear the knock on the bedroom door. 

Perplexed, he propped himself up on his elbows. “Matt, you spent the night here, it’s practically your house, you don’t have to-” 

When he looked up, the door was already open, and Matt was standing in the entryway with a tray full of breakfast food balanced in his hands, grinning proudly. 

Shiro’s heart melted as all his worries suddenly fell away. 

Matt walked further into the room, all his concentration on his tray as he spouted off, “So there’s scrambled eggs, bacon, and I tried to make crepes but they’re kinda weird, just bear with it they’re actually not that bad, so there’s jam and peanut butter and nutella for those- I found the nutella way in the back of your pantry, I don’t know how long it’s been there- and I brought orange juice and water and coffee because I didn’t know what you’d want-” 

As he set the tray down on the nightstand, Shiro laughed and yanked Matt down by his battered old t-shirt- Shiro’s battered old t-shirt, actually- and kissed him, very thoroughly, on the lips. 

“I love you so much,” Shiro told him on a laugh. 

Matt smirked. “Well duh.” 

Rolling his eyes fondly, Shiro accepted the proffered tray with a smile, picking up his fork. 

Matt started for the door, but Shiro cleared his throat. Matt paused, turning back with an inquisitive look. With the sunlight glancing off his golden-brown hair and intelligent eyes, in nothing but Shiro’s tattered t-shirt and a pair of boxers, so real and human, yet dreamlike in the soft morning air, Matt was as beautiful as Shiro had ever seen him. It was these moments- the real ones, the human ones, unproduced and unplanned and effortless and simple- that Shiro was overwhelmed by how lucky he was to have found someone like Matt… someone beautiful and smart and funny and wonderful and, while not perfect, perfect for him. 

Gesturing at the food in his lap with a half-smile, Shiro asked, “You weren’t planning on letting me eat by myself, were you?” 

Matt’s lips split into a beaming grin, and there was a bit of a hop in his step as he paced back to his side of the bed and plopped down, nearly spilling Shiro’s various beverages. 

“Well, I guess not,” Matt commented, accepting the coffee and taking a generous sip before picking up one of the crepes, rolling it and dunking it into the jam, unceremoniously beginning to eat. 

Shiro grinned so widely it hurt his cheeks and ruffled Matt’s hair before digging in. 

Matt fed him pieces of bacon or crepes, fingers brushing against Shiro’s lips, and in turn Shiro laughed, accepting the food and swallowing it before returning the favor with a kiss on the cheek or the lips. It was so easy, all of it- the tension in his shoulders melted and the doubts plaguing his mind became manageable. Refreshing, that was a good word for it. He had needed this. With this… he could manage. He knew that, somehow, with people like Matt- and with people like Lance, Pidge, Hunk, on his side, he would be able to face the perilous few months they were all facing. 

As Shiro set aside their now-empty tray, Matt tugged at him to lay back down on the bed, cuddling up against him. Shiro stroked Matt’s hair- it had always been incredibly soft- and smiled at the warmth burrowing into his chest. Matt’s arms snaked around Shiro’s waist and he tucked his head under Shiro’s chin. 

“Feeling any better?” Matt asked softly, breath soft against Shiro’s chest. 

Shiro’s heart seized, even as, somehow, impossible, it melted even more. Matt had known. Despite the front that Shiro had been struggling to keep up, Matt had known he was worried and stressed out, and he had tried to make it better- he had made it better. 

“Much,” Shiro whispered in response. 

He felt Matt’s lips curve into a smile against his chest. “Good,” the other boy breathed.” 

Shiro reached down, tilting his chin up. Their eyes met, and Matt’s were not teasing or impish or blithe as they so often were, but were intent, intense, and so impossibly focused- serious. 

“I really do love you,” Matt spoke into the sudden silence between them. 

A slight laugh escaping his lips, Shiro smiled softly down at him and replied, “Well, duh.” Leaning in, he stole the laughter from both their lips with a kiss, which Matt quickly returned. 

Yes, this moment, with Matt in Shiro’s old clothes, sharing breath in between kisses, legs tangled together and smiling against each other’s lips- this was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to reiterate how happy you guys make me and thank you again!   
> Sorry for the super short chapter and the wait times between updates but thanks so much for your support and I hope you liked it!


	36. Swing Life Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Keith makes some progress but honestly it's mostly just fluffy stuff, most particularly Klance and Shatt fluffy stuff, because I'm having a shitty week and I think some of you are probably having a shitty week too so I wanted to write fluff to hopefully make someone feel slightly happier bc I'm full of regrets and I want at least one person who is dealing with this god-awful week to not be totally miserable so yeah basically have some fluff and be happy I love you guys 
> 
> Yeah there's gotta be so many cliches in here but i don't even care anymore it is three thirty in the morning and the caffeine levels in my blood are running dangerously low deal with it complain in comments if you must I'm not redoing anything I have too many regrets for rewrites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so if I’ve already used this chapter title someone please tell me I honestly have no clue I haven’t actually slept in like five days, I've got a cold that's seriously trying to kill me and I’m legitimately running off Danger Days, caffeine and endless regrets at the moment so yeah a) please inform me of any major fuck-ups and b) please send help
> 
>  
> 
> Okay also I don't get work done in AP Psych and you can see the results of *that* in the end notes, it's probably entertaining but idk, that could just be my sleep-and-nutrient-deprived brain. Anyway yeah check it out you might laugh or smile or maybe just shake your head in disappointment but no matter which way you go it'll be an experience

If love is a labor I’ll slave till the end  
I won’t cross these streets till you hold my hand

 

Keith scribbled another lyric on a paper napkin, nearly tearing through its flimsy material with the frantic, sharp movements of his pen. 

He still only nibbled at the meals the others brought to him in his room- he had yet to go back down to lunch or dinner- but he had found a wonderful use for the napkins. Every time he heard a lyric he liked, he wrote it down. There was a steadily-growing pile of inked-up napkins beneath his bed. 

Pidge still rotated his iPods regularly. He wasn’t totally sure why she still did, considering the improvement he was showing- he had thought, for some reason, that they would all care less once he started to get better, though so far they had proven exactly the opposite- but he was grateful. The music seemed to provide him some sort of sustenance, oddly enough. It was good not to sit in silence, too. He was sure it was helping to keep him distracted from what he would see if left to his own devices, though it was far from foolproof. 

He had tried keeping his eyes closed, but it never kept the visions or the voices away. 

A knock at the door, the sound sharp and crisp in the fuzzy quiet of the evening, broke him from his reverie, and he looked up as it cracked open. 

A pair of familiar, sparkling blue eyes and that comforting, playful smile appeared at the gap. Hanging from the door, Lance leaned into the room and crowed hopefully, “Come to dinner?” He’d been asking Keith for a few days now to come to meals, though he never pushed. That was one of the few things Keith felt like he could be sure about- Lance would never force him into anything he didn’t want to do. Lance was safe. It was nice, having a person like that. Despite the time it had taken to get here, despite the distrust and the fear- fear that was still present, though he did try to ignore it- he was glad to have a person like that, just one. 

He thought of Shiro and Pidge and Hunk and even Allura. Perhaps, eventually- eventually- more than one. 

Going down to dinner sounded… loud. Crowded. Overwhelming. Huge. A near-insurmountable task, no matter how mundane it was supposed to be. It sounded like the exact opposite of enjoyable. 

But there was Lance, with that smile that Keith wanted him to keep wearing. And there was the promise he had made, to himself first and then to Lance, to try. To get better. And he knew, for all the things that he was ignorant of and for all the ways in which he was naive, that getting better didn’t mean doing what was easy. He was going to have to push himself forward, one step at a time. 

So… 

“Okay,” he croaked, setting his napkin and his pen carefully aside. 

To his credit, Lance masked his shock well; it was obvious enough that, even though Lance had continued to ask him, he hadn’t really expected his repeated beseeching to work. Nonetheless, he smiled just a little brighter as he and Keith left the room side by side. 

Glancing to his left at Lance’s bright grin every few seconds, Keith was seized by the absurd urge to grab the other boy’s hand, to share Lance’s happiness and pretend, for a few minutes, that he was carefree… 

But then again, no. The urge fled almost as quickly as it had come. He wasn’t there yet, not yet. Getting closer, slowly but surely; but not quite. 

He was beginning to think that he could get there, eventually. That was something to look forward to, maybe; something to work toward. 

Looking over again, he allowed a small smile to creep onto his own lips as he watched Lance hum and skip down the hallway and dart energetically down the stairs. Some people… some people, people like Lance, had an inexplicable way of lighting up the world around them. Keith was glad he’d been lucky enough to find one. 

He got a waffle and Hunk’s famous scrambled eggs at the food counter- breakfast for dinner today- making sure to collect an absurdly large bowl of strawberries for Pidge. There was a tiny, irrepressible smile on his lips as he thought of seeing his friends again; as much as meals stressed him out, he really had been pretty happy all those times he had come down here to eat breakfast and dinner with them. He was nearly bouncing on his toes with anticipation as he waited for Lance to finish filling his tray. 

The number of smiles, and the enthusiasm behind them, that greeted Keith as he approached was still, despite finally beginning to realize that his friends reciprocated his affection, a bit shocking. He still hadn’t entirely adjusted to the idea of people caring about him, even people that he cared about as much as he did them. But it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling; in fact, it filled his chest with a strange, wonderful warmth as he took his old seat at the same bench he always sat at before. Even though he’d stopped coming to meals, they had continued to sit at the same table. He felt oddly touched. 

There was a face he didn’t actually recognize at the table today, but one that was familiar enough that he immediately knew who it was- ruffled golden-brown hair, intelligent golden eyes, and a hand in Shiro’s gave him away instantly as Pidge’s fabled older brother, Matt. 

A chorus of “hey, Keith”s rose around the table as he sat down, Matt’s voice joining the voices of his friends. Keith regarded him with curiosity and a bit of instinctive wariness; there was still a voice inside him that whispered warnings against anyone new, anyone he didn’t know- they might be a threat, they might hurt you, they might hurt the people you care about, careful, careful, careful- that he couldn’t quite tamp down. He was starting to worry that it would never really go away, but he tried to force it out of his brain as Matt met his eyes and smiled. 

“Hey, Keith,” he said. His voice was relaxed and easy, and it fit perfectly, somehow, with the way he looked- casual, agreeable, playful. Something about it set Keith a bit more at ease, despite the nagging distrust in the back of his mind. He managed a small smile and a nod back. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Matt continued, popping one of Pidge’s strawberries into his mouth. She shot him a dirty look, but her scowl turned into a smile as Keith pushed the bowl he had brought across the table to her. She dug in happily, bowl tucked protectively under her arm to keep it from her brother’s reaching fingers. “Katie nearly stole my iPod to bring you, actually.” Katie- Pidge. That was Pidge. “Just managed to save it.” Matt laughed. “But other than that, all good things, all good things. Hopefully you and I can be friends someday.” 

Keith looked at him, wide-eyed, peering at Lance out of the corner of his eyes for help. People weren’t usually so… forward, were they? Right? They never had been before, at least not to him. It was new, but… something about it made it easier for Keith to trust Matt, and set him a little more at ease. It was easier to understand people and things that way, Keith had always thought. If this was the way that Matt talked, maybe Keith could warm up to him a little faster than he had thought. 

Progress. He was making progress. 

Breakfast for dinner was, apparently, a sacred event at Second Chance. It only happened a few times a year, and was regarded as holy by all those involved. Pidge told him, very seriously, that they all did shots of maple syrup; Keith had looked to Lance in alarm as Hunk hurriedly assured him that it wasn’t true, and Matt roared with laughter. 

Shiro seemed a little more at ease with Matt around; it was like the latter helped to remind Shiro to relax, have fun, sit back and enjoy the moment. They complimented each other well, Keith noticed; Matt was easygoing and had a casual, fun demeanor, while Shiro was a bit quieter, with the strength and air of a leader and a lot of kindness beneath his intimidating exterior. Keith liked them together. 

Halfway through the meal both abandoned their forks, feeding each other with their fingers; Shiro and Matt both laughed as Matt shoved an oversized piece of waffle into Shiro’s mouth, smearing syrup across his cheek. Shiro balanced orange slices on Matt’s nose, and when he snapped his fingers, Matt tossed the slice into the air and tried to catch it in his mouth; he was uncannily good, rarely missing, and often received applause from various tables in the vicinity. Upon being questioned, Shiro was quick to inform Lance, “Yeah we actually practiced this. Like, a lot. Matt was upset that my neighbor’s dog could do more tricks than us.” This earned a roar of laughter that even Keith could not help but join in. 

It devolved further from there, Shiro and Matt feeding each other pieces of chocolate and leaning so close to each other that both Keith and Hunk made a concentrated effort not to look at them too often. Glances every now and then revealed them stealing quick kisses, smiling into each other’s lips. Pidge gagged, complaining loudly, to which Matt’s only- very distracted- response was, “He tastes like chocolate, you don’t not kiss a hot man that tastes like chocolate.” Instantly, Lance popped a bite of chocolate into his mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly and then leaning in with puckered lips, wiggling his eyebrows. The table roared again, and only laughed louder when Matt gave him a quick peck. Lance was so surprised he fell out of his seat on the bench; Shiro laughed longer than was strictly necessary at that, and tugged Matt closer for another, longer kiss as Lance climbed back up, rubbing his head grumpily. 

Keith’s meal, to his own incredible surprise, was as enjoyable as theirs, at least in his mind. Pidge, right after snapping at Hunk’s hand- literally snapping, teeth bared with a snarl in her throat- as he reached for a strawberry, had shared the fruit with Keith, rousing loud, long complaints from Lance, Hunk, and Matt as Keith and Pidge laughed over their shared bowl of strawberries, grinning angelically at the rest of the table. 

Hunk had brought some new, foreign hot sauce he’d found at what Lance called “foodie dreamland,” a shop Hunk liked somewhere near Lance’s apartment. “It’s supposed to be the hottest hot sauce in the world,” he told them, expression equal parts excitement and fear. “I mean it sounds really cool but my gastrointestinal system-” 

“They all say that,” Pidge interrupted, waving him off lazily even as she eyed the hot sauce appraisingly. “That’s the selling point of hot sauce. What makes this one special?” 

Hunk glanced at the bottle in his hand before answering, “Well there’s, like, a lot of capsaicin in it, which is why my stomach-” 

Lance leaned forward at this point, grinning devilishly and lacing his fingers together. “I say we give it a try, whaddya think, boys?” Pidge smacked him, and he waved his hands apologetically, correcting, “Right, right, people, whaddya think, people. Huh?” 

Hunk looked doubtfully at the bottle as Pidge shook her head. “Nope, I’m out,” she said instantly. 

“What, too scared?” Lance taunted, to which Pidge replied with a glare deadly enough that Lance’s megawatt smile dropped a few notches. If looks could kill, Lance would have been sprouting daisies, Keith was certain. 

“Well, I think we all know I could beat your ass without blinking, McClain,” she crooned sweetly, and there was genuine fear behind Lance’s smile now. Keith stifled a snicker. He could tell Pidge noticed- the subtle quirk of her lips revealed her approval. Lance did, too, and elbowed Keith in the ribs. Keith jumped before elbowing back, scowling at the other boy. Lance could- 

“But I,” Pidge said, suddenly leaning back with an air of haughty importance as she pulled a camera out of her bag- he hadn’t even noticed she had a bag on her- “have to man the camera.” The impish grin on her face was not reassuring as to how she expected this whole ordeal to go. 

Lance looked to Hunk, who shook his head regretfully, passing the bottle over to Lance. “Sorry, buddy, not gonna risk the stomach pain. Tell me if it’s really hot though?” 

Lance nodded, still with that beautiful, cocky smirk on his face, and looked to Keith. “So, Keith, looks like it’s just you and me. What say you?” 

Keith gave the bottle a long look. After a few seconds, Shiro- who had looked up from Matt for long enough to have a basic understanding of what was going on- interjected, “Guys, I don’t know if this is the best-” 

“I’ll do it,” Keith said, and Pidge and Hunk whooped while Lance’s grin widened. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shiro drop his head into his hands, muttering something about “becoming one of them” as Matt laughed and leaned still closer to murmur into his ear. 

Pidge set up her camera as Hunk layed out the competition. “Whoever can drink more wins. If you spit it out, throw up, or pass out, you are automatically disqualified. Contestants will begin drinking at the timer and will finish when the first contestant drops out. Questions?” Lance and Keith both shook their heads, determined and strangely serious considering the nature of the contest. For some reason, Keith really, really wanted to win. He didn’t even know why. He just wanted to beat Lance. 

A quick glance to his left revealed Lance, stone-faced and resolute, staring straight ahead, and Shiro and Matt, the former shaking his head defeatedly and watching the scene through his fingers, and the latter laughing so hard that, were it not for Shiro’s arm around his waist, he surely would have followed Lance’s example by now and fallen from his seat. 

Hunk divided the hot sauce between two red solo cups and set the empty bottle back on the table, looking extremely anxious on their behalf. Pidge pressed the record button on the camera, and Hunk raised a checkered napkin- the closest thing they could find to a flag- and began to count down from three. 

Pidge looked as if a thought had occurred to her. 

“Three!” 

“Hey, guys…” 

“Two!” 

“Guys?” 

“One!” 

“Should we maybe have-” 

“GO!” 

Pidge’s voice was drowned out by Hunk’s yell as Lance and Keith lifted their cups and began to drink. 

Keith’s taste buds screamed in agony the second the hot sauce touched his tongue. His first instinct was to spit it out and then rip out his tongue, but from the corner of his eye he could see Lance determinedly chugging hot sauce- face rapidly turning the color of a tomato as he did- and so Keith choked it down and continued to drink. 

It was agony, but that burning desire, risen seemingly from nowhere, to beat Lance would not let him quit. 

Just when he thought he couldn’t bear any more, he saw Lance slam his cup down on the table, his face the color of a fire engine and his tongue drooping from his mouth like a dog on a hot day. Sucking in a deep breath, he released a loud scream. A hand immediately slapped over his mouth, muffling the sound. Shiro. 

Keith could stop now. He should stop now. 

Glaring at Lance around the side of his cup, he kept drinking. 

He was going to drain this goddamn cup if it was the last thing he did. 

Good god, it might be the last thing he did. 

Lance was staring at him now, eyes teared up and face red. “How the hell are you doing that?” he screeched. Flailing his arms, he wailed, “Keith is a demon! Or an alien! It’s the only explanation!” 

The entire table stared with mixed shock and alarm as he choked down the last of the vile liquid and slammed his cup down on the table. Despite the overwhelming urge to scream and cry as Lance had done when he finished- and was continuing to do now, sinking to the floor and yowling- he forced himself to keep his mouth closed. He would win. He was going to win. 

“Holy fuck,” Pidge said, and everyone was so busy staring at Keith that they all forgot to correct her language. 

Suddenly she fell to her knees. “Teach me your ways, great one,” she chanted, bowing her head toward the floor. Keith stared, stunned. 

“WATER,” Lance gasped from the floor, and Pidge suddenly shot upright, like a sped-up flower blooming from the weeds. “Right!” she said, straightening her glasses. “I was going to ask if we should maybe get milk. You know, so they have something to cool their mouths down with.” 

Keith stared at her with eyes bulging as Lance’s pleas for water became cries for milk. Hunk screamed unintelligibly as he stood and sprinted off to get milk; Keith wanted to join him, but was far too afraid of what would happen if he opened his mouth to risk it. Tears began to stream down his face, which was hot. He groaned low in his chest, trying to hold in the urge to howl like Lance was. At least he was still in his chair and not rolling around on the ground. 

Lance jumped to his feet, doing an awkward, painful dance with his face cupped in his hands. “MILK MILK MILK MILK MILK,” he moaned, and Keith jammed a fist against his sealed lips to prevent himself from laughing or crying or screaming or all three. 

Hunk reappeared with the milk, and Lance and Keith practically pounced on him to get it. He looked terrified as they yanked it away savagely, drinking with all the wild enthusiasm of rabid wolves. It didn’t make it completely better, but the cool liquid made his tongue feel slightly better. Keith reveled in it- only slightly more than he did the way that milk was running down both Lance’s cheeks and his chin in his haste to drink it all. The second he had finished his milk, he burst out laughing, joining the rest of the table. 

Things calmed down slightly after that, though Lance continued to gripe about getting milk on his shirt. Shiro and Matt, satisfied that none of the others were in immediate danger of death or mutilation, returned to their preoccupation with each other, which Pidge studiously ignored- though she did, occasionally, cast them discreet, fond looks that Keith was quite certain he was not supposed to notice. The one time Pidge caught him looking, she winked. Keith nodded ever-so-slightly, sensing it was the right thing to do; apparently, this was correct, because, seeming satisfied, she looked away. 

Lance had managed to snag some extra strawberries from the kitchen, which he was refusing quite adamantly to share with Pidge; she pouted over her video camera, scrolling through footage and occasionally cackling in a way that made Keith scared of what he might find on that camera. Lance did share with Keith and Hunk, though, tossing strawberries into Hunk’s open mouth and cheering every time one made it in. He handed them nicely to Keith. He seemed to have gotten over their competition already, springing back to enjoy some new activity with his friends. It made Keith smile into his now-empty tray. 

“Wanna try?” he asked Keith after a while, gesturing to Hunk’s open mouth and the strawberry in his own hand. 

“Uh,” Keith replied, caught off guard. “Th- throwing or catching?” 

“Catching,” Lance chuckled, tossing another strawberry at his best friend, who caught it deftly, chewing contentedly. “I’m the great shot here, gotta keep practicing.” To emphasize his point, he tossed another strawberry at Hunk. It hit him squarely in the eye; Hunk just shrugged, picked it up off the table and popped it into his mouth with the other one. 

Keith looked back at Lance with his eyebrows raised. The other boy just shrugged. “Hey, even sharpshooters don’t make every single shot,” he dismissed easily. Keith grinned. He really was… insanely lucky. “So, what do you say? Wanna try?” 

Meeting Lance’s luminous blue eyes, Keith nodded. “Okay,” he agreed, and Hunk whooped again, Matt joining in with a wolf whistle that he did not seem to know the purpose of as he instantly melted back into Shiro. Lance rolled his eyes, calling over his shoulder at Matt, “You owe me a real kiss,” before turning back to Keith. Shiro lifted his head to growl, and Lance cringed. Keith found it oddly adorable, the way Lance’s nose and forehead crinkled as he winced. “Never mind,” Lance squeaked. “I didn’t say anything.” 

Keith laughed, and when he looked up again, Lance was smiling at him. The other boy tapped his own lips, and Keith parted his own obediently, tilting his head back and waiting. 

Lance took careful aim, muttering under his breath about angles and trajectory. 

Pidge, on the other side of the table, violently coughed “SHOW OFF” into her bag. Lance scowled in her general direction but stopped talking. Keith was slightly disappointed; it had been kind of cute. 

He shook his head, wondering what was happening to him. All these things that Lance was doing that were cute… 

Interacting with people was so weird. Keith wasn’t sure he’d ever understand it. 

Finally, Lance tossed the strawberry toward Keith’s open mouth. Keith watched it sail toward him- it was about to miss- 

Darting to the side, he caught it just in time, clamping his jaw shut around it. 

Pidge and Hunk cheered. “Nice catch,” Pidge said appreciatively. Matt pulled away from Shiro for a second to give another half-hearted wolf whistle, clearly still having no idea what was happening, before being pulled back into another kiss. No one paid them any mind. 

Lance was grinning at Keith, who swallowed his strawberry and smiled back. “Nice shot, sharpshooter,” Keith joked, and Lance smiled a bit wider, cheeks flushing slightly pink. 

Breaking his gaze to look around, Keith found the mess hall nearly empty. “I hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten,” he remarked. 

The others all seemed to start at this, glancing about them. “Oh,” Shiro remarked, seeming slightly disappointment; the sentiment was mirrored in the expressions and voices of everyone else as well as Hunk said sadly, “Yeah, I guess we should all probably start getting home…” Suddenly, he perked up. “Wait! Tomorrow is Saturday!” 

He turned to Lance with a huge, pleading smile, and begged, “Cuban breakfast? Cuban breakfast, pleeeaase? Please buddy? Please?” 

Lance tossed his head back and laughed, and Keith felt his own lips twitch, watching the other boy. “Of course, buddy,” he said. “Always. You should all come-” He paused awkwardly, as if remembering something unpleasant. “Except Allura hasn’t cleared Keith to leave yet…” he frowned, tapping his chin. 

Keith gave him a small smile. “It’s okay, guys,” he said. “I’ll be fine.” 

They all stood at once, in wordless communication, and drifted toward the doors, where everyone else would leave and Keith would climb back up the stairs, to his room, where he could watch them all find their separate cars through the windows, if he got there fast enough. 

Lance hummed thoughtfully, still frowning. “Yeah, i guess we can’t really do anything about it this week...” he muttered as they all funneled into the entry hall. 

His energy returned to him as he perked up and said, “Soon, though. We’ll get you out of here and you’ll come have real Cuban breakfast at my house. My mama and my sisters are gonna love you, Keith, it’ll be so fun!” He looked content now as everyone began to file out the front door. “You’ll see,” he said, edging toward the door. He was the last still in the hall, but his eyes were locked on Keith’s, and Keith didn’t know about Lance… but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. 

“Soon,” Lance repeated. Then, with a big smile and no warning, he tossed something in Keith’s direction. Reflexively, Keith snatched it from midair, opening his hand to see what he’d caught. 

It was a pressed penny, with a picture of a beach he didn’t recognize on it. 

When he looked up again, Lance was still grinning, though there seemed to be an almost tender edge to it now, as well as an impressed one. “Nice catch, Keith,” he said. “You’re like a ninja, or- nah, ninja doesn’t quite suit you. What’s the other one?” He paused, staring at Keith for a second, and then his face lit up. Snapping his fingers, he exclaimed, “Samurai! That’s the one. Nice work, Samurai.” He grinned at Keith, then gestured toward the coin. “Cuba. That’s Varadero Beach. I go there a lot, have family there. Keep it, so you don’t forget about breakfast.” 

Grinning and tossing a wink Keith’s way, he turned and started to walk out the door. “Catch you later, samurai,” he called over his shoulder. 

As the door started to close, Keith replied, “Good night… sharpshooter.” 

He caught one more glimpse of Lance’s smile before the door shut. 

Smiling, Keith turned to climb the stairs, penny clutched firmly in one hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys this is the longest chapter I've written in MONTHS I'm so proud of myself (haha not really but we can pretend I still know what pride is right) 
> 
> Also sorry for the lack of serious stuff or real plot progression this chapter, I figured we could all use some kinda light and happy stuff, I'll try to catch up on the other stuff in my next post (which will hopefully be soon but I don't know anymore) 
> 
> Anyway yeah thanks for reading. Before I fully get into my end notes, I promised you some tumblr-reminiscent crap so  
> Here  
> Behold, what actually happens in an AP Psychology class 
> 
>  
> 
> Voltron Characters as Things that People in my AP class have actually said (in one class period) 
> 
> Pidge- I should have a huge party for my sixteenth birthday and burn my house down  
> Hunk - Go get the food  
> Alt. Hunk- Would you like some tasty aluminum  
> Lotor- There’s aluminum shards in my pockets  
> Shiro- Do you realize that we're hurtling toward the sun and if we were just moving faster I could be dead but I’m not  
> Keith- how many times do I have to stab myself in the neck with this pen before I die  
> Lance- Could I choke to death on cheerios- Shirios.  
> Allura (about the garrison trio)- There’s three of them. They’re not doing well.  
> Coran- We have to perform this.  
> Matt- there’s a bag of chocolate chips in my house and that was a mistake. 
> 
>  
> 
> Lance: Wait what are we doing?  
> Pidge: Failing psych. 
> 
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> 
> Pidge: Well I mean I guess I technically could go to your house if I sedated him and stole the car but that sounds like a lot of work and I have homework. 
> 
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> Matt: The irony in that is f a n t a s t i c let’s do it
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> Hunk: Cheerios are good. Like they kinda make me wanna throw up but they’re good. 
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> Shiro: If I hit myself with a water bottle enough times, what would happen? Well, I don’t know. Probably death! 
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> Lance (about Lotor): Well I think his desires and conflicts are pretty conscious but whatever, unconscious works too.
> 
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> Matt: (to computer) No not in the D&D folder, bookmark
> 
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> Lance: My chest hurts.  
> Shiro: My life hurts. 
> 
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> 
>  
> 
> Okay you guys don't understand I have a four page doc filled with this stuff and it just. keeps. growing. I'm gonna be able to post this sh*t in the notes until this fic is over (brace yourselves), which may not be until the literal end of time at the rate I post. Seriously. You don't understand. Just. 
> 
> We were supposed to be writing a skit.  
> We did not finish writing the skit. 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the incoherent rambling, poorly-written chapter and various, miscellaneous nonsense you have no doubt been exposed to. Like I said, kinda rough week so I am not functioning super well at the moment, I'll work on it for my next post ;) (Seriously I've been listening to this four minute song for at least two hours, probably more, and I don't remember hitting replay once it's fuckin' b a d guys)  
> Okay, thanks for indulging my mindless rambling and reading and everything! Love you guys please don't hate me for the shitty chapter and poor life decisions! 
> 
>  
> 
> I think writing all these notes took me longer than the actual chapter


	37. The Good Left Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short little transition chapter, hope to get the next part of this little mini-arc thing up soon, more fluff on the way because... I don't know I'm feeling nice I guess 
> 
> TW: panic attack, mentions of abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be totally honest I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing anymore? I have a plan for the next couple chapters and a vague plan for everything else but there's hardly any plot or direction so I apologize for the downhill (in my writing and the plot, not necessarily Keith's condition) that's probably going to happen here. It's April now too, so things at school are getting busier and posting might be even more difficult :( Sorry

All because of you   
I haven’t slept in so long   
When I do I dream   
Of drowning in the ocean 

 

There wasn’t enough air in here. He kept breathing, fast, but there were still spots dancing before his eyes, he wasn’t getting enough air, not enough air, and it was so, so hot- 

He bolted upright in bed, gasping, fingers clawing weakly at the sheets. They were tangled around his legs, and he was so- he couldn’t think straight, but he was so- not scared, that wasn’t the word- anxious, this was anxiety, he was having a panic attack- he was supposed to breathe when this happened? Something about breathing in and holding his breath and breathing out again but he couldn’t- could not remember… 

Anxiety clutched at his stomach, twisting it violently, and he struggled against the sheets, scrambling to get out of bed. They wouldn’t let him go, wrapped around his legs, tangled up somehow- his breathing grew still more ragged as he shoved at them and finally broke free, tumbling from the bed and onto the floor. He wanted to get up, to move- even just pace the floor, do something, he really needed to move- but he was dizzy and his vision was blurred- not enough air- 

He collapsed back against the hardwood, ignoring the sting in his shoulder blades. His shirt was gone, on the floor somewhere- he’d been taking it off as he slept lately, and waking up later drenched in sweat, the sheets kicked to the floor. He didn’t always scream from his nightmares anymore, though that happened often- too often- far too often. Now, there were other things- there was waking up with his hair plastered to his forehead and leaning over the edge of his bed to retch from the strength of the phantom pains attacking his body and the panic clutching his stomach. There was waking up unable to move, watching his old master raging around him, feeling the pain of blows landing and being unsure if that moment was the dream, or the last few months had been. There was being unable to sleep at all- still- and thus having no way to escape the hallucinations, no way to flee the concrete walls closing in on him and the miserable old man screaming foul words, no blissful escape into unconsciousness, even for a few minutes. 

His thoughts were a mess, he couldn’t think couldn’t breathe couldn’t feel his legs, couldn’t speak or yell even though he saw- there, in the corner- walking toward him- belt- no, no, no- 

He thought he must have passed out, because when he could think again, he could breathe, and his master was no longer stalking toward him. Slowly, he stretched his fingers, working up his arms- elbows, shoulders, neck, and then down his legs. Taking a shuddering breath and trying to toss away the lingering shreds of anxiety tugging naggingly at his gut, he sat up, groping in the dark for his bed. He had shut the blinds, hoping it would help him sleep, and it had- but now he regretted it, because the room was too dark, too claustrophobic, even though he could still hear the city moving along outside. So, so loud here, and that had its comforts- but he wondered what it would be like to be somewhere quiet, somewhere secluded. Somewhere where it was just him and his thoughts, somewhere he could know, for sure, that there was no master lurking in the corner, waiting to reclaim him and drag him back to the hell that seemed to have taken up most of his life. 

It was strange, really, that it seemed like so much of his life had been in that place. Six years- about a third. And still it felt like he’d hardly ever known anything else. His mother’s string of abusive boyfriends, the dead look in her eyes, the way she used to scream at him- they’d all been long since replaced by vastly more frightening nightmares, nightmares that suffocated him even when he was awake; nightmares that he couldn’t outrun or escape, no matter what he did. They haunted him, prodding at the edge of his conscious. It was as if they were living things, waiting for his guard to drop so they could slip through the cracks and pounce- hallucinations, bad dreams, even just memories that froze him to the spot. He was trying, so hard, because, against all odds, he’d found something worth trying for- he had friends, had… something like a family. But he didn’t know how he could ever win against something intangible, because the demons that plagued him never got tired… and he was exhausted. 

He hadn’t told Lance and the others about the number of panic attacks he’d been having. The hallucinations and screaming nightmares and sleep paralysis scared them enough, and there were others here, he knew with certainty, that went through worse than he did. There were other things to worry about, other people who needed their concern more. He should be able to do it on his own. He couldn’t… he couldn’t rely on other people. He had to do it on his own. He had to do things on his own, that was how it worked. 

He collapsed back against his pillow, thankful that the sheets were cool now. He hated when they were warm, hot with the fear of his nightmares; they felt more suffocating that way, closer, restricting, like snakes binding his arms to his ribs and his legs in place until he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think. His thoughts did that to him enough; he didn’t want his bed to do it to him too. 

He’d already counted all the cracks in the ceiling a million times, but he counted them again. And then again. And then again. He knew he wouldn’t sleep again before breakfast, probably not for a few days. There was no point in trying. 

He passed the time like that for hours- first counting the cracks in the ceiling, then the floorboards, then the number of cars honking outside, and on and on until breakfast. He attended almost every meal now, though he didn’t eat much. It made his friends happy, he could tell, and that rarely failed to make him feel a little better- like he was doing something, making some progress, even if he was fairly hopeless about his prospects of recovery. 

He trudged down the stairs a few minutes early to beat the rush; he hated getting caught up in crowds as everyone on the higher floors headed to the cafeteria. He felt, irrationally, as though he would be crushed by the mindless, food-driven herd. He had learned, in his months here, that people lost their minds at the slightest prompting when food was involved. 

A familiar lanky figure slid in front of him, blocking his path, as he reached the door to the dining hall. 

His heart skipped a beat as he met Lance’s blue eyes, twinkling with a smile. “Hey buddy,” Lance greeted, far too chipper for the hour, but voice laced with that comforting, familiar energy he had. “Don’t go in there,” he added, ushering Keith away from the door. 

Confused, Keith glanced back through the open door, where volunteers were setting up the food for the morning. “Why- where? What?” he stuttered as Lance urged him toward the door that led outside. 

Twisting around to look over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of Lance’s smirk. 

Leaping out from behind Keith, Lance jogged to the door and pulled it open. Cool morning air rushed inside, pale gray light illuminating the street. 

Turning back to Keith, Lance grinned. 

“Jailbreak.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super short chapter- like I mentioned, it's pretty much just a transition with a Keith status update tossed in, it's honestly a mess (like my life). Anyway, I still have a bunch of crap from not paying attention in AP Psych, so here you go: 
> 
>  
> 
> To the Paladins: How’s Chem going?   
> Lance: I gave up ten minutes ago   
> Pidge: well the increase in temperature creates an increase in volume which causes the pressure in the container to grow   
> Hunk: so basically the microwave made the lid pop off the container   
> Allura: what did you make?   
> Shiro: Hopefully something that will kill me   
> Keith: *points at Shiro* *“wanting death” face*
> 
>  
> 
> Matt: You’ve had SO MUCH beer today   
> Shiro: This is nothing, you should see me with a pitcher of margaritas 
> 
>  
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> Keith: *banging head on table* Fuck. Insomnia. 
> 
>  
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> Keith: I don’t know how to interact with normal people. Wake me up when the sun goes down and you’re all delirious. 
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>  
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> Lance: I’m as gay as the day is long. And I take a lot of naps so my day is about half as long as other people’s. But I’m bi so actually yeah that works 
> 
>  
> 
> Hunk: I ship you guys.   
> Lance: *leaning back on two chair legs, serenely sipping juice box* yeah that’s not a problem, *I* fuckin’ ship us. 
> 
>  
> 
> *person runs screaming down hallway outside*   
> Lotor: *shakes head* Told them they should have majored in poli-sci 
> 
>  
> 
> Lotor: I want to watch the whole fucking world burn but until then hand me the goddamn ice cream, I have three classes worth of homework to get done in the next 45 minutes. 
> 
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> Pidge: There’s ice cream in my backpack right now and if that can’t make me happy, your puny mortal constructs are worthless. 
> 
>  
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> Matt: Are you suggesting that ice cream is somehow god-like?   
> Pidge: Ice cream *is* god, dipshit. 
> 
>  
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> Shiro: Up to 3 nights without sleep ay-oh where’s the cyanide 
> 
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> Keith: I haven’t slept in 4 days WHERE is the goddamn benadryl 
> 
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> Hunk: *pounding table* I am a high-functioning individual! Where are my glasses!  
> Pidge: You don’t wear glasses…   
> Hunk:   
> Pidge:   
> Hunk:   
> Pidge:   
> Pidge: Go to bed [Hunk]   
> Hunk: Yeah okay 
> 
>  
> 
> Lotor: *nods serenely* See, this is why vegetarianism is better. It’s all zen and shit.   
> Hunk: *staring at pictures of anti-meat protests* No. No, that is not even slightly true. 
> 
>  
> 
> Shiro: Hand me a coke, some vodka and the bleach I’m about to make the best damn cocktail you’ve ever seen 
> 
>  
> 
> ...full disclosure, not all from AP Psych


	38. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith goes to breakfast and I question my research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after only three months, I have returned. Sorry I took so long to update! Thank you to those of you that stuck around to read this, even though I vanished for a ridiculously long amount of time

Bring back the days we had before tomorrow   
Relapse and then collapse into yourself once more  
Waiting for this life to change seems like it’s taking me forever   
And I can’t hold on   
This life is breaking into the day 

 

The inside of Lance’s minivan was just as Keith remembered it- a bit worn, a bit unkempt, but comforting and marked with the evidence of years of love. He leaned forward a bit, running his fingers lightly across the beaten knobs on the radio, counting them silently, habitually. For some reason, though Shiro, Matt, Pidge, and Hunk were crammed into the back seat, Keith had been given shotgun. Right next to Lance. He stole a covert glance to his left- the other boy was busying himself with preparing to leave, adjusting his mirrors, buckling his seatbelt, carefully avoiding touching Keith’s fingers as he reached to change the radio station. His eyes glowed softly in the low morning light. Keith tucked his hands carefully in his lap and looked away. 

The city was loud. He was tired, he was, honestly, a bit overwhelmed- he didn’t know what was happening, where they were going or what they were going to do- but he was also… happy, or at least happier than he’d been in a while. His friends… they hadn’t given up on him yet, even though he hadn’t done anything but get worse and worse for the entirety of the time that they’d known him. They still wanted to know him, and spend time with him, and… take him wherever it was they were taking him now, apparently. 

As Lance pulled away from the curb, Keith could have sworn he saw a flash of white at one of the windows. Unease pinched at his stomach. He tried to ignore it. He didn’t want to worry about… anything, right now. He wanted to spend time with his friends. He wanted to have fun. Above all, he wanted to get through his time with them without anything happening. No hallucinations, no panic attacks… it was almost definitely too much to ask, of himself or any god or whatever else that might have been listening, but he was damn well going to try. 

“So, Lance, how about we tell Keith what we’re doing here today?” Shiro suggested, ever the leader. Keith perked up again, listening. In the rearview mirror, he could see Hunk and Pidge exchange a quick grin. Pidge met his eyes in the mirror and gave him a brief thumbs up. He didn’t think anyone caught it but him. He gave her a weak smile in return, watching as her eyes caught on the bags beneath his eyes. He looked away before her small smile could turn into concern or pity or anything else. He didn’t want to think about it today, he really didn’t, as unrealistic as that was. He just wanted one day, at least just the one, to prove that he could ever get better. One to hold onto, for the good memory, and for the proof that he could do it. 

Keith looked to Lance as the latter spoke. “We’re headed back to my place,” he said with a grin, though he kept his eyes on the road. “My parents are out of town and my siblings are all busy today, so I figured… you know, how we all made plans to do Cuban breakfast this morning?” Keith figured he was imagining the slight hint of nerves in Lance’s voice. “Well, I know Allura hasn’t cleared you, but we all felt bad, and we also wanted you to be there, and… yeah. We’re going to my house to do Cuban breakfast.” Lance shot a look at Keith from the corner of his eye. “Sound good?” 

Keith was a little bit… awed. The fact that they’d go to this trouble for him, so that he could come take part in one of their traditions… How did he ever get so lucky as to meet people like them? 

It wasn’t too far to Lance’s apartment, about a twenty minute drive. He was glad. By the time they pulled up to the building, Pidge and Matt were bickering loudly in the backseat, cuffing each other over the head and occasionally slapping each other forcefully across the arms. The situation was devolving quickly, especially as Hunk started babbling - “guys c’mon really what is this even about I mean seriously just let’s calm down and talk this out it’ll be fine no wait no guys no don’t hit each other that’s- no- bad- stop it don’t do that oh c’mon guys please-” and Shiro plugged his ears and started humming quietly to himself. Keith couldn’t stifle a small laugh at that. Even as the oldest and unquestionably most mature member of the group, he was still like this. 

Lance lived on the sixth floor. His apartment was surprisingly big- a few bedrooms, most with multiple beds in them, a couple of bathrooms, and a large living room and kitchen, separated only by a counter that was outfitted with bar stools on the living room side. Shiro, Matt, Pidge and Hunk went immediately for those seats, settling themselves in there as if they’d done it a thousand times. Keith was sure they had. 

He moved a bit more slowly, inspecting the apartment as he walked further into it. Two couches, three chairs, carpet that was surprisingly well off, considering how many people lived here, a ragtag cluster of toys shoved halfheartedly behind one of the couches, a TV mounted above an electric fireplace, dozens of family photos on the walls and on the mantel. Eighty seven stones around the fireplace, forty-two tiles on the kitchen floor- 

“Keith,” Pidge called. “Come sit here.” She patted the stool next to hers. He noted with some relief that it was at the end, on the side closest to the door- and then felt a vicious pang of guilt. These were his friends. He shouldn’t need an easy escape. 

He shouldn’t need any of… 

He shook his head violently to clear it as he trudged over and dropped onto the stool next to Pidge. Lance was humming under his breath as he took out dishes and ingredients. Matt, Shiro, and Pidge were talking, while Hunk rambled on to an easily-smiling Lance about a new cafe he wanted to try that weekend. 

Keith leaned forward against the counter, peering at Lance’s workspace. It was littered with a hopelessly tangled mess of ingredients that Keith could never hope to make sense of. Instead, he turned his attention to the boy himself. 

Lance looked as at ease here as Keith had ever seen him, a relaxed smile on his face, eyes lit up as he talked with Hunk, hands flying across the counter so quickly they blurred a little. A basket of Mexican sweet breads sat on the counter between Lance and the rest of them- “From the international market where I got the other ingredients. Figured they’d make a good appetizer, of sorts, and if there are any leftovers, my sisters love this stuff,” Lance explained- while the rest of the kitchen had, apparently, been taken over by cutting boards, frying pans, peppers, eggs, sausages, and so many other things that Keith couldn’t take them all in. Within a few minutes, aromas the likes of which he’d never smelled before filled the air- unidentifiable spices, sauteeing onions, roasting peppers. Pidge looped him into her conversation with Matt and Shiro, and before he knew it, he was… laughing. Smiling. Enjoying himself, actually at ease for once. It was miraculous. 

“So I told my professor, you know, that I had it at home, right, and he said, ‘If you can get it here in the fifteen minutes before I leave, boy, I’ll give you credit for the assignment.’” Keith laughed with the others as Matt imitated his grumpy old professor, lowering his voice and plastering a deep scowl to his face. “So I just kinda stood there for a minute, like, I wasn’t sure if he was being serious, and then he goes, ‘What are you still doing here? Go!’ So I took off running, and-” 

Pidge ducked to aboid Matt’s flailing arms as he regaled them with the story of how he knocked over a guy and his two drink carriers full of coffee, got attacked by a flock of pigeons, jumped over a park bench and the couple making out on it, nearly got hit by a bus- “God, what is it with you and buses?” Shiro said at that. “Were you hoping I’d turn up with your project and save your ass again?”- picked the lock for Shiro’s apartment- “You have a key, dumbass.” “I lost it!”- got hit on the head with a newspaper by an eighty-year-old woman a foot and a half shorter than him- “What did you do, lean down and let her?”- and made it back to campus in fourteen and a half minutes. 

“And then,” Matt continued, taking a sip of his orange juice and slamming the cup back down on the counter indignantly, “when I got there, the professor had already left! Can you believe that?” 

“Not a word,” Pidge replied drily. 

Matt glared and opened his mouth to respond when Shiro cut in, “Well, how long did you just stare at him before you actually started running? Because he said fifteen minutes, so if-” 

Matt let out an aggrieved squak. “You’re my boyfriend!” His face dropped into an angry pout as he jabbed a finger resentfully at Shiro’s chest. “You’re supposed-” 

Keith smiled down at the mug of hot chocolate between his hands as Pidge and Shiro continued to antagonize Matt. This… he wished this could be his every day. It was wonderful. 

A hand reached into his field of sight suddenly, and when it drew away, a number of mini marshmallows had been dropped into his cocoa in the shape of a smiley face. He looked up to see Lance grinning at him, perhaps even more goofily than the face in his drink. “Thanks,” Keith said, smiling slightly back. Lance was flipping something onto plates now, even as Pidge and Hunk both picked up another piece of sweet bread to snack on. “What’s that?” Keith asked, peering down. It looked… well, like French toast. 

“Basically French toast,” Lance confirmed, echoing Keith’s thoughts. “It’s called torrejas con frutas. We use this Cuban bread that we buy at the international market, and serve it with spiced sugar cane syrup instead of maple syrup. I usually make fruit salad with it too, and that’s over there.” He pointed vaguely at another counter behind him. “I usually make this because it was the first thing I learned to make, and the first thing made for them-” he gestures to his friends clustered opposite the counter from him- “so it’s sorta special. It’s got sentimental value, ya know? And then I always make something else too, which today is revoltillo de chayote? It’s a scramble with chayote, which tastes sort of like cucumber, and I always make garlic roasted peppers with it too, because they go really well on the side. That’s still cooking, but this is done now, so…” He started setting down plates in front of people, which, aside from drawing proclamations of delight, shut them up pretty effectively. He set Keith’s down last. Keith looked down at it as he picked up his fork. It smelled fantastic. For the first time in weeks, he was excited to eat. 

He took the first bite and looked up just as Lance started on his own plate. The little smile that Lance wore said everything that words probably couldn’t- there was the comfort of his childhood in the taste of this breakfast. Keith smiled a little himself, just as Lance looked back at him. 

“You like?” Lance asked, and Keith nodded, smiling at the other boy. 

“It’s amazing,” he replied. He finished the rest at record speed, coming in second only to Matt, who ate three more pieces and continued to complain of hunger. Shiro, quietly eating just as much, only laughed, while Keith found himself far too preoccupied with food to join in Pidge’s teasing or even Matt’s whining for more, which was definitely a sentiment he agreed with. 

Lance kept cooking, occasionally narrating his actions for Hunk, who appeared to be taking studios notes on his phone. Matt, on a dare from Pidge, chugged the rest of the bottle of orange juice that he had been filling his glass was with, as Lance shouted that Matt had to buy him more, since it was his mother’s. There was a close call where Keith and Lance nearly had another competition- who could drink more ketchup this time- but was then thwarted when the ketchup bottle exploded all over Pidge. Keith almost died of laughter when he saw it coating her glasses and dripping from her hair. Lance shouted at them to clean it up as he minced garlic. Shiro may or may not have been filming everything. 

The rest of the meal was as good as the beginning, maybe even better. Lane swung up on the counter to eat with them after he served everybody, and Matt juggled some pears that Pidge had found in a fruit bowl. Shiro had to physically drag Pidge out of the fridge after finding her halfway through a carton of strawberries. 

As Lance and Hunk started to do dishes and Pidge and Matt huddled around a phone to watch some weird video that, from the sound of it, involved a lot of screaming and several explosions, the door opened, and three people walked in. Keith looked up to see a tall, pretty girl with Lance’s golden skin and brown hair enter, tailed by two smaller girls- the oldest maybe sixteen, and the youngest probably about six. 

“Casey,” Lance said in surprise. “I thought you guys were going to be out until this afternoon?” 

“We were,” the oldest girl said, hanging up her jacket, “but a couple of the stores were closed, and-” 

Keith stopped listening- or, more accurately, stopped hearing. His ears were suddenly filled with his pounding heartbeat, his muscles were suddenly so tense he thought they might shatter… the youngest girl’s eyes, trained directly at him, with an intensity that… there was a photo, in one of the old bedrooms that the old man never went into anymore...the focus in those eyes, it was familiar. They weren’t the same eyes- those blue, these a rich amber, those narrow, these wide- but this focus, this intensity, it was… 

He tried to calm himself down. It was just because he hadn’t been expecting to meet new people today, that was all, that was what his problem was, and he knew that, but he couldn’t stop his heart rate from skyrocketing, he couldn’t stop his breathing from becoming just slightly more labored- 

Space. That would help. If he just got a little space, went somewhere quiet, had a minute to think rationally and collect himself, he would be fine. He could pull himself together, and nothing would go wrong. He could get through the day without panicking or hallucinating or ruining everything, just like he had wanted to. 

Quietly, he slid from his seat and made his way around the counter to Lance. Everyone was still preoccupied, Lance’s sister helping the younger ones take off their coats, Matt and Pidge still enthralled by their video, Hunk humming cheerfully as he dried dishes, Shiro texting somebody with his brow furrowed- he could slip out relatively unnoticed. He reached Lance’s side, gently knocking the other boy’s arm with his own. “I’m going to step out and get some air, okay?” he told Lance with forced lightness, making himself meet those blue eyes- not counting the kitchen tiles or the screws keeping the cupboards together or the number of dishes in the rack, just calmly meting Lance’s eyes. He didn’t have to know anything was wrong. The others didn’t have to know. It would be fine. He would go outside and pull it together and it would be fine. 

If only continuing to tell himself that would actually cause the rising tide of anxiety in his chest to recede. Even just a little bit. 

“Alright,” Lance said, concern furrowing his brows even though Keith was certain that Lance couldn’t tell what he was feeling. He had far too much practice hiding his inner turmoil for him to know. “Want me to come with you?” 

Keith forced a grin. It was far more difficult than it really should have been. “Nah, I’m fine. I kind of want to go alone. I’ll see you in a couple minutes, okay?” With that, he turned, letting his smile drop as he made his way to the door, forcing his legs to move slowly even as he fought down the urge to sprint. 

The second the door shut behind him, he made for the stairwell, breaths growing louder and faster and becoming more and more difficult to take in. He bunched his hands into fists. This shouldn’t be a problem. Why couldn’t he just deal with it? Just for one day, he should have been able to pull it together, just one. That was all he had wanted, just the one day, that was… 

But really, that wasn’t what he wanted, was it? He wanted to get better. He wanted to be better, but he didn’t feel like he was getting better at all. He went to meals. He took showers. He drank water, smiled at his friends, he laughed, he talked to them, he was making the effort he had promised to make- and it wasn’t getting better. He still couldn’t sleep, he was still having panic attacks, he was still hallucinating, and the smallest, most random things triggered him, sent him hurtling back in time and space until he was there again, back in that house, and even though he dragged himself out of bed every day now, he just wasn’t fucking getting better. 

So what the fuck was wrong with him then? 

Stars danced across his vision, and he stopped. He hadn’t realized that he had started won the stairs, but this… he knew this. He knew what was coming. He slid down the wall on the stairwell, resting his back against it. It felt impossible to breathe, felt like he couldn’t get any oxygen, like there were taloned hands wrapped tight around his chest, squeezing, stealing the air from his lungs. Blackness began crowding out the edges of his sight. 

He couldn't even go a day. Hell, he couldn’t even go three hours. 

He wasn't getting better. He was never going to get better. 

What was fucking wrong with him? 

He slumped back as the darkness dragged him down and away from the world again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry the chapter wasn't great, and that I made you wait so long... broken laptop, vacation, depression, etc. Hopefully I'll be updating a bit more frequently? But I don't want to make any promises, because evidently I'm bad with posting schedules. Anyway, once again, thanks so much for the people who took the time to read, and especially to the readers who've been here since early on and continue to read despite my sporadic updates. I appreciate you all so much! Thanks again!


	39. Waiting Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Keith's panic attack at Lance's place. 
> 
>  
> 
> (I promise this fic isn't dead just my soul)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY! I've been gone FOREVER, it's not okay, I'm so so so sorry! 
> 
> A brief shout-out to Yours Truly for inspiring me to make the time to update.
> 
> Edit: oh my GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO MENTION THE KUDOS?? HOLY FUCK GUYS I CANNOT THANK YOU ENOUGH 
> 
> Seriously, I never thought that this fic would get nearly as much support as it has, especially not over 1000 KUDOS?!? You guys are rhe best, thank you all so so so much

Bring back the days we had before tomorrow  
Relapse and then collapse into yourself once more  
Waiting for this life to change seems like it’s taking me forever  
And I can’t hold on  
This life is breaking into the day 

 

(Lance) 

The gentle murmuring sound of different conversations- his sisters, Matt and Shiro, Pidge and Hunk- was soothing, but Lance couldn’t quell his nerves. 

It had been a huge risk, sneaking Keith out as they had. Allura would definitely notice and yell at them- but it was more than that. They really couldn’t be sure how Keith would react to being out, seeing new things and new people, being exposed to a big, loud, busy city. He had been fine so far, handled everything really well, but they couldn’t be sure that it would last. Keith was working on getting better, but he was still sick, and anything could trigger him, even little things that none of them could anticipate. 

He had walked out a few minutes ago, and he had seemed okay- relaxed, and smiling a little. Lance knew he was having fun, that he was happy to be here- and he was glad, too. He really loved getting to hang out with Keith, and he worried about him; it couldn’t have been fun, cooped up in that narrow building all the time, rotating between the dining hall and his bedroom and never seeing anything else or going anywhere. But at the same time… that was probably safe, for Keith. Familiar, and comforting. He’d been trapped with that horrible man for years, abused and enslaved and god only knows what else. Maybe it seemed nice, to have a familiar, constant place that was a home, not a house of horrors. Maybe it was good to see the same people- people that were struggling, like him, and healing, like him, and people that were kind and wanted to help him. Lance didn’t really know. Even though he felt like he had gotten to know Keith so much better recently, he still usually felt like he didn’t know him well enough at all. They hadn’t talked much about his past- which Lance completely understood- and for the last few weeks, Keith hadn’t talked too much at all- which Lance also understood, even if it was frustrating. He wanted Keith to take his time and do whatever he needed to do- he just wanted him to get better. 

Still, it would be nice… It would be nice if they could talk more. Lance really, really looked forward to when they could. 

He glanced at the clock and frowned. Keith had been gone almost ten minutes. He’d never specified an amount of time, and he was probably fine- just wandering around looking at stuff, or enjoying the fresh air. But still… 

Lance looked around the room again. Everyone was occupied, talking to each other or snacking on leftover food, smiling. They wouldn’t miss him if he just went out for a minute. Just to make sure. Keith wouldn’t mind if Lance just came out for a second to check on him. It’d be fine. 

He slipped out the door quietly, shutting it with a small clicking sound. The hallway was quiet, sunlight pouring in from the windows but not too much noise. It was kind of peaceful, actually- as much as an apartment complex hallway could be, anyway. 

He glanced up and down the corridor and didn’t see Keith anywhere. Stepping lightly so as not to disturb the quiet, he turned toward the stairs. Maybe Keith had gone all the way down and outside, to look around maybe, or just to breathe- 

His thoughts all stopped dead in their tracks as he reached the top of the stairs and looked down at the landing. 

Slumped against the wall. Pale. Hardly breathing. Unconscious. Keith. 

“Oh no…” 

***

(Keith)

Someone was yelling at him- fuck, he’d forgotten the dishes in the study, or- wait, no, it was… maybe he forgot to switch the laundry into the dryer? No, he’d… 

“Keith!” 

He felt like there was a weight in his lungs, holding him down, making him heavy and making it difficult to breathe. His feet, he could vaguely tell, were tingling, and his fingers. The light behind his lids was a fuzzy orange-purple- it wasn’t pitch black here. He wasn’t in the garage. Maybe that was why he was being yelled at- he’d fallen asleep and he should be working. He tensed, curling in slightly; after the yelling came the fists, the belt… 

“Keith!” 

His vague sense of half-consciousness slipped away, and he was in the dark again. 

***

“-understand-” 

“No! You have to understand that when I do not clear someone to leave, there is a reason! Anything could have happened today, don’t you understand that? We’re all damn lucky that this wasn’t even worse than it already is!” 

“Look, just let me explain-” 

“I don’t want to hear your explanations! This was incredibly irresponsible. I expected better from you, from all of you! Keith is in our care, and the state requires his presence at a hearing very, very soon, Lance.” 

Lance? 

“Keith has already been at Second Chance longer than we should have been able to keep him, and I’ve already pushed the court date longer than I should have been able to. They are watching us, Lance, and Keith has hardly shown any improvement since he’s been taken into our care. They’re expecting things from us, they’re expecting results, and they’re expecting us to have him better and out of our place by the end of this month. We can’t afford these sorts of backslides, because these sorts of backslides will land him in state custody and a mental institution. I kept him inside because I worried this would happen. I wanted him better, I wanted him more stable, before I tried to expose him to so many new things, to new people and new places. I know that you’ve been watching him try to improve, because I’ve been watching him to, and believe me, I’m happy, and I’m proud of him, but he is not better, Lance! This is going to take him time. He’s still suffering, and he’s still struggling, more than you could probably be aware of, because, Lance, you’re only there part time. Keith is hanging on by a few little threads, and I don’t want to overwhelm him and risk snapping any of them.” 

A pause, a sigh. 

“This was bad. It could have been much worse, but it was bad. We should count ourselves lucky that he didn’t fall down the stairs, and that he’s still somewhat responsive.” 

Another pause. 

“Go back downstairs. Tell everyone else that I’ll need to see them in my office at nine on Saturday. Don’t come in for your shifts until then- we’ll find other people to cover them.” 

“But-” 

“No, Lance. I-” 

A pause, and the voice- female, British, and familiar now- softened. 

“I understand that you care about him. I really do, more than you know. But this…” 

A sigh. 

“I’ll see you on Saturday.” 

The other voice- also familiar, now, and so much more comforting- sucking in a breath. 

“Will I- can we- Can we see him? Before then?” 

“I don’t know yet, Lance. I just… I don’t know.” 

One last sigh- this time, defeated. 

And then footsteps, shuffling out of the room, soft, downtrodden- and then gone. 

Keith’s eyes fluttered open, landing on the ceiling, lit dimly by the lamp on the bedside table. 

He looked down, to the foot of the bed. Allura was looking back at him, her hair falling from its braid and her eyes sad. 

“I’m glad to see you awake,” she told him, voice subdued. The odd light from his lamp threw the angles of her face into sharp, strange relief, making her look almost gaunt. He wondered if that was how he looked all the time. 

He didn’t answer, just gazing back at her. 

“I’m not sure if you remember what happened.” She hesitated, eyes flicking away and then back, and carried on. “Lance and the rest snuck you out, to his apartment, for breakfast. You had a very severe panic attack and lost consciousness. They called me when they found you in the stairwell. We brought you back here, and you’ve been in and out of consciousness. It’s about seven at night now.” 

She stood waiting, but he found he didn’t have much to add. He had failed- of course, he had failed. He should have known he would never last. 

One question. 

“W-” He went to speak, and found his throat hoarse- like his head, like the rasp in his lungs. He cleared it, and tried again, dropping his gaze to Allura’s striped pants. One, two, three, four… 

“Will I see them again?” 

He glanced up in time to watch her eyes flick away. Eleven, twelve, thirteen… 

“Yes.” 

Twenty-one, twenty-two… 

He twisted his fingers in the cord of iPod and earbuds he had left behind when he got out of bed this morning. Dead now, naturally. 

“Soon?” 

Thirty-four, thirty-five… 

She didn’t meet his eyes. 

This iPod would stay dead, it seemed. 

“Good night, Keith. Try to rest.” 

She left, and Keith flicked off the light, leaning back to listen to the noise from the rest of the building and the rest of the city. Somewhere nearby, he thought he heard crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so sorry for another short, mostly-dialogue chapter, especially after being gone for so long. All of my readers have always been so great- amazingly patient and supportive- and I really appreciate, but honestly, feel more than free to yell at me about abandoning this fic for such a long time. I do intend to see this fic through to the end, it's just taking much longer than I had anticipated, and I apologize. Thank you so, so much to everyone who has stuck with me and everyone who has been kind and inspired me to keep going- it means the world, and I can't begin to express my gratitude. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Forgot to mention before, this is the first time I've written in third person since I think fourth grade? So again, I'm sorry

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Jar of Lost Hope](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16063652) by [lolcinnamonrollz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolcinnamonrollz/pseuds/lolcinnamonrollz)




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